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The tremendous power of being a living example of Christ.
 

 

The Conversion Story of Christopher Gautschi

 

My mom fought to have me baptised. Because I was born out of wedlock, the Dutch-Reformed Church initially refused point-blank to offer me that most important Rite of Initiation into the Christian life. I was eventually baptised at the age of one and a bit, after my mom had written a letter apologising for having me out of marriage, which, oddly enough, is not even considered a sacrament in the Reformed traditions.
 

I grew into a virulent atheist in my late teens. I read Nietzsche and was captivated. I saw the Ten Commandments as tools for control, a slave-morality. I railed against Christianity, and had only the greatest contempt for its founder. What I did not yet know was that I was resisting a specific type of Christianity. I was fighting, or rather, protesting, against protestantism. Most tragically, I insulted my mother with the snarky remark that she shouldn’t have bothered fighting for my baptism.

Even in my darkest days of attacking God, I knew one thing for sure. If ever I had to be a Christian, I would have to be a Catholic. There is one major reason for this - one true Christian whom I believe made it to Heaven - my aunty Marie.

 The only time I ever went to Church as a kid was when I wanted to see Marie (not actually an aunt, but a first cousin of my grandfather). I loved her so much, as did everyone in the family. My mom and I knew where we could find her every Saturday evening - at Mass. I remember the strangeness of it all: the kneeling, the singing, the bells, the incense, the God-Man nailed to the cross (can this really be God, suffering so much, and what for?).

I did not know it at the time, but Christ, truly and substantially present on the altar, was speaking to my weak little heart, preparing me to become a victim of His transformative Divine Love. What I remember most of all from those Masses were those glorious words of consecration - “take, eat, this is my body,” and “take, drink, this is my blood”. I didn’t believe it then, but still, something stuck with me. One of the tragedies of the loss of the sense of the true presence of Jesus in the Eucharist - thanks to the Reformation - is that the crucifixion and resurrection become a once-off event from long, long ago. In my youthful arrogance I asked: “What does that one crucifixion matter in the face of all the suffering of the world?” I mentioned before that Marie was a true Christian. I knew this, I felt this instinctively. But how, and why? For the simple reason that she was kind, non-judgmental, charitable, meek, and the overall embodiment of the Gospel values. When she died in 2022, and her mostly Protestant and irreligious family fumbled their way through her Requiem Mass, there was one thing we knew for certain - if Marie didn’t make it to Heaven, there was no hope for any of us.
 

 A year after Marie died, I wanted to remember her. So I snuck into the back of St Mary’s Cathedral in Cape Town. I remembered, thanks to Marie’s influence, when to kneel, but I didn’t dare make myself conspicuous in any way. I snuck out before anyone could make eye-contact, but - alas - I was caught. A man came up to me. He knew I wasn’t a regular. I told him why I was there, with no intention of coming back. He thought otherwise. “Speak to Father” he told me.

 And so, I spoke to Father. I wrote him an email and his advice was simple - keep coming to Mass. I went back every day that week. Eventually, fighting against my atheist pomposity, I emailed the teacher in the Rite of Christian Initiation (RCIA) classes. I went to my first class on 3 December 2023.

 

 I came to realise that I did not truly know Christ. Most importantly, I learnt that the crucifixion was ongoing. That, to paraphrase Blaise Pascal, Christ remains on the cross until the end of time. It hit me that He came down to make us other sons and daughters of God, that by eating His flesh and drinking His blood, we can strive to one day see the face of God.

 

 By the grace of God, I was received into the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church at Easter Vigil 2025. I received Christ in the Eucharist for the first time, rather, Christ came to live in me, weak vessel that I am. For my confirmation Saint, I chose St Augustine of Hippo. This was for many reasons, but one sticks out to me above all others. St Monica, Augustine’s mother, wanted her son to be baptised, but this was put off for a very long time. I cannot help but feel joy at the similarity to my own dear mother’s fighting for my baptism. Thank God I have been given the opportunity to atone for my derision of my mother’s efforts to have me baptised - through my encouragement and Christ’s silent words spoken in my mother’s heart, she is now in RCIA classes and will be confirmed at Easter Vigil 2026.