By Chris Stefanick
Eleven years ago I sat with my wife at the edge of the baptismal font with our hands on Ryan’s back, along with the priest’s. Three dunks later he was a child of God. It was no small journey. He, like St. Augustine, was a philosopher. His questions flowed like an endless stream over late night beers. He became our dear friend, though we knew he might never become a brother in Christ.
It wasn’t until Holy Thursday that Ryan willed to believe in God. While listening to the Nicene Creed at Mass, he allowed grace a small opening when he asked himself, “Do I believe that? And if not, what do I believe in?” His walls of resistance fell, one after another, as the creed went on, “Yes! I believe in God the Father almighty. …Yes! I believe in the resurrection of the body! ... Yes! I believe in the forgiveness of sin, too! …Yes! I do believe!” Two days later the waters of baptism rippled with yet another convert.