During Holy Week, a time traditionally devoted to reflection and renewal, I’ve taken the chance to revisit my own stance toward the Catholic Church — both emotionally and intellectually. It started with a question:
Why am I still Catholic, knowing what I know?
What followed was not just solitary reflection — but also a string of late-night conversations with a good friend. Someone open, honest, and unafraid to ask hard questions. And those questions shook something loose.
Has the Church betrayed the teachings of Jesus?
Yes and no.
There were — and still are — grievous abuses.
Corruption. Greed. Manipulation. Arrogance.
The Church is not immune to sin; in fact, it often amplifies it through power.
But even after everything — the teachings of Jesus are still proclaimed.
They haven’t been silenced.
They haven’t been destroyed.
They still reach hearts —
even if sometimes the Church twists or waters them down to serve its own interests.
(Think of Jesus driving out the moneychangers — and then remember the long history of simony.)
Maybe the point isn’t to expect perfection —
but to understand that healing is part of the Church’s nature.
Like a hospital full of patients…
Some come to be healed.
Some are infected.
And yes — even some of the doctors are corrupt.
But when a hospital faces corruption — you don’t abandon healing.
You root it out.
You protect the mission.
You thank the whistleblowers.
You clean house — and keep caring for the sick.
Maybe the Church should do the same.
With humility.
With repentance.
With truth — not PR.
The Church shouldn’t silence those who expose its failures.
It should thank them.
Because light heals. And the Church exists to bring light.
“Let both grow together until the harvest.”
(Matthew 13:30)
Even Jesus warned: the weeds grow alongside the wheat. And sometimes only the final harvest shows which is which.
What is the most faithful path to Jesus?
It’s not a denomination.
It’s a way of being.
It’s becoming a light.
“You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.” (Matthew 5:14)
To live like Jesus:
- Love your enemies
- Forgive 70×7 times
- Seek the lost
- Feed the hungry
- Be poor in spirit, pure in heart, merciful
- Wash feet, not raise thrones
These aren’t denominational behaviors — they’re transformations of the soul.
And yet… Catholicism, at its best, equips the soul to become that light. Through sacraments, ancient prayers, centuries of thought and mystical depth, it hands us tools — not all shiny, not all flawless, but real.
Why does Islamic discipline fascinate me?
Oddly enough, I began reflecting more seriously on my own faith because of Muslims —
athletes, colleagues, and friends whose consistency and devotion made me feel lazy by comparison.
No excuses. No wavering. No bargaining with themselves.
I even remember seeing an Orthodox Jew praying in an airport —
devout, focused, undistracted —
and wondering: if a Catholic did that in public, people would assume he was crazy.
How did we drift so far?
What struck me about Islam was the visible alignment between faith and life.
They don’t just say God is first — they live it.
- Clear structure: five daily prayers, Ramadan, abstinence from alcohol.
- Communal rhythm: one global body, moving in sync.
- No compromise: God really is the center.
No surprise that someone like Khabib Nurmagomedov shines so brightly.
His faith is his compass. His life matches his values.
It’s Stoic virtue with Islamic integrity — and Marcus Aurelius would’ve nodded with approval.
Catholics have the same tools — we just forgot how to use them
We too have a sacred rhythm:
- The Liturgy of the Hours (matins, vespers, compline)
- The Rosary, the Angelus
- Friday fasts, Advent, Lent
We’re not missing instruments — we’ve just forgotten how to play them.
We stopped fasting.
We stopped praying.
We started treating spiritual devotion like a chore — or worse, a joke.
Not only did we forget discipline — we began to mock it.
And yet… it’s all still there.
The scaffolding. The structure. The tradition. The tools.
We don’t need to invent anything new — we just need to remember.
From darkness, light
I used to rage against the Church’s hypocrisy.
Now I grieve it — and also see the sacred fire still burning beneath the ash.
Quiet old women still light candles.
Simple voices still pray the Rosary.
Strangers still kneel in empty churches.
Grace still flows.
“If I look with the eyes of scandal, I see a mess.
If I look with the eyes of the Spirit, I see mystery.”
The Church is cracked — maybe so more light can shine through.
This Holy Week, I don’t try to fix the Church.
I try to be one burning candle within it.
Fiat lux.