The Difficult Door

Why I am now unsure about becoming a Catholic

The parish office door was right on the pavement. A laminated sign with the address assured me I was in the right place.

The intercom had two options: Parish Office and Presbytery. I pressed both. No answer. I called the office. No answer. I tried the administrative assistant’s mobile. Still nothing. I began to wonder whether I was in the wrong place or simply at the wrong time.

I called my husband, whose appointment had been the week before. He explained there was a “funny situation” with the door. Following his directions, I discovered an alleyway a little further down the pavement, where a recessed glass door waited, unmarked, almost secret.

If this was your first visit, you would almost certainly not find it. Yet the intercom now offered a third option: Marriage Tribunal. I rang, and eventually someone let me in. For someone who prizes punctuality, being ten minutes late for an important appointment was a stressful start.

When I recounted this story to my RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) group, a fellow catechumen said he had been told he was one of the few ever to find the right door on the first try.

It struck me that if the door is so difficult to find, the Tribunal could at least provide directions or signage. But they don’t. Perhaps this is a test — of faith, patience, intelligence? I failed all. The difficult door felt like a metaphor for the existential questions this process has raised for me.