Category: Conversion
Catholic churches PACKED for Easter as conversions skyrocket
Catholic churches across the U.S. and other parts of the Western world welcomed historic numbers of new members over the weekend. Although popularly characterized as a “surge,” some analysts have suggested the flood of new and often young converts is actually a rebound.
Prior to welcoming 20 people fully into the faith during the crowded Easter Vigil at the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles, Archbishop José Gomez said, “Tonight your story will be joined to His story, to the beautiful history of salvation, the great story of God’s love for His people.”
‘This generation just seems open to the call of the Lord.’
Altogether, 8,598 catechumens and candidates were received into the Catholic Church in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles this Easter, reported Angelus News.
On Saturday, Archbishop Ronald Hicks welcomed some of the over 3,600 new catechumens who reportedly joined the Catholic Church in the Archdiocese of New York this Easter season, telling a packed house at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, “It does feel good when you belong, and we belong to Jesus and we belong to our church.”
Father Andy Matijevic of Holy Name Cathedral in the Archdiocese of Chicago told WBBM-TV, “We had six Masses so far, last night and a few this morning, and all of them have been packed inside.”
Holy Name, which held overflow Masses on Sunday, reportedly saw 18 people baptized and another 23 confirmed, contributing to the archdiocese’s total of over 600 catechumens who received the sacraments of initiation at the Easter Vigil.
Chicago Catholic noted last month that the archdiocese was also set to welcome 445 individuals from other Christian traditions this past weekend, representing a 78% increase in members over last year.
RELATED: Catholic church sees huge surge in conversions — due to inclusivity?
Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. Ronaldo Bolaños/Los Angeles Times/Getty Images
Father Burke Masters, whose St. Isaac Jogues Catholic Parish in the Chicago suburb of Hinsdale reported a 124% year-over-year increase in new members, told WLS-TV that the average age of those being received into the church is 28 years old.
St. Mary’s Church near Texas A&M’s campus in College Station, Texas, also managed to roughly double its 2025 Easter baptism numbers, welcoming 61 catechumens into the Catholic Church. Again, most of the newcomers were apparently young adults.
“Most of the [new members] are students, most of them are invited by other students, most of them also maybe heard a call or were drawn to the church,” Rev. Will Straten told KBTX-TV. “So it’s great to see more students desiring to be baptized and to live the faith.”
Boston Archbishop Richard Henning, who saw the churches under his purview similarly packed over the weekend and expected over 680 catechumens to join the Church at Easter, told CBS News, “I think this generation just seems open to the call of the Lord in a way that we’ve not seen in a while.”
Numerous other American dioceses — such as the Archdiocese of Newark — similarly reportedly years-high numbers of new Catholics converts, as did dioceses elsewhere in the Western world.
In Canada, for example, the Archdiocese of Toronto counted a total of 2,050 adult catechumens baptized at its Easter Vigil celebrations — a 12.4% increase over last year. Other Canadian dioceses, including those covering the cities of Montreal, Ottawa, and Vancouver, were also reportedly set for significant growth over the weekend.
In France, over 13,000 adults were set to be baptized into the Catholic Church over the weekend, including more than 700 catechumens in Paris, reported the National Catholic Register.
The numbers appear especially high in large part because conversion numbers in recent decades had fallen so low.
According to U.S. diocesan statistics compiled by the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate at Georgetown University and analyzed by the Pillar, there was a precipitous decline in the number of people becoming Catholic from 2000 to 2020.
Whereas, for instance, there were 173,674 adults baptized or received into full communion in 2000, that number reportedly had plummeted to 70,796 in 2020.
The Pillar noted that while there has been a significant increase in the number of new adult Catholics following the pandemic, the number of babies baptized every year has dropped by over 50% since 2000.
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Malcolm Muggeridge: Fashionable idealist turned sage against the machine
“The depravity of man is at once the most empirically verifiable reality and the most intellectually resisted fact.”
The name of the man who made this pronouncement may not mean much to many readers now. Yet the world he warned about has arrived all the same, whether his name is remembered or not.
When Malcolm Muggeridge — a British journalist and broadcaster who became a public figure in his own right — died in 1990, many of his fears still felt abstract. The moral strain was visible, but the structure was holding. Progress was spoken of with confidence, and freedom still sounded uncomplicated.
‘I never knew what joy was until I gave up pursuing happiness.’
Today, those assumptions lie in pieces. What he distrusted has hardened into dogma. What he questioned has become unquestionable. We are living amid the consequences of ideas he spent a lifetime probing.
Theory meets reality
Muggeridge was never dazzled by modern promises. He distrusted grand schemes that claimed to perfect humanity while refusing to reckon with human nature. That suspicion wasn’t a pose; it was learned. As a young man, he flirted with communism, drawn in by its certainty and its language of justice. Then he went to Moscow. There, theory met reality.
What he encountered was not liberation but deprivation. Hunger was rationalized as hope. Cruelty came wrapped in benevolent language. Compassion was loudly proclaimed and quietly absent. The experience cured him of fashionable idealism for life. It also taught him something harder to accept: Evil often enters history announcing itself as virtue, and the most dangerous lies are told with complete sincerity.
That lesson stayed with him. In an age once again thick with certainty, that insight feels uncomfortably current.
Pills and permissiveness
Yet Muggeridge’s critique extended beyond politics. At heart, he believed the modern crisis was spiritual. God had become an embarrassment, sin a diagnosis, and responsibility something to be displaced by grievance. Pleasure, once understood as a byproduct of order, was recast as life’s purpose. The result, he argued, wasn’t freedom but loss.
This realism shaped his opposition to the sexual revolution. Long before its consequences were obvious, he warned that freedom severed from restraint wouldn’t liberate people so much as hollow them out. He mocked the belief that pills and permissiveness would deliver happiness. What he anticipated instead was loneliness, instability, and a culture increasingly medicated against its own dissatisfaction.
Muggeridge also understood the media with unsettling clarity. As a journalist and broadcaster, he watched newsrooms trade substance for spectacle and truth for approval. When entertainment becomes the highest aim, he warned, reality soon becomes optional.
By the end of his career, Muggeridge had dismantled nearly every modern promise. Fame proved thin. Desire disappointed. Professional success brought no lasting peace. Skepticism could clear the ground, but it could not explain why nothing worked.
A skeptic stands down
When after more than a decade of exploring Christianity, Muggeridge finally entered the Catholic Church in 1982, the reaction among his peers was disbelief bordering on embarrassment. This was not the impulse of a sentimental seeker but of one of Britain’s most famous skeptics — a man who had mocked piety, distrusted enthusiasm, and made a career of puncturing illusions.
Friends assumed it was a late-life affectation, a theatrical flourish from an aging contrarian. Muggeridge himself knew better. He had not converted because Christianity felt safe or consoling, but because, after a lifetime of alternatives, it was the only account of reality that still made sense.
As he had written years before in “Jesus Rediscovered,” “I never knew what joy was until I gave up pursuing happiness.”
That sentence captures the logic of his conversion. Muggeridge did not arrive at faith through nostalgia or temperament. Christianity did not flatter him. It named pride, lust, and cruelty plainly, then offered grace without euphemism. It explained the world he had already seen — and himself within it.
RELATED: Chuck Colson: Nixon loyalist who found hope in true obedience
Washington Post/Getty Images
Truth endures
His Catholicism was not an escape from seriousness but its culmination. He believed human beings flourish within limits, not without them; that desire requires direction; that pleasure without purpose corrodes. Christianity endured, he argued, not because it was comforting but because it was true.
After his conversion, Muggeridge did not soften. He sharpened. The satire retained its bite. The warnings grew more direct. But they were no longer merely critical. Skepticism had given way to clarity — not because he had abandoned reason, but because he had finally stopped pretending it was enough.
More than three decades after his death, Muggeridge’s voice sounds less like commentary than like counsel. The world he warned about has arrived. What remains is the stubborn relevance of faith grounded in reality — and the freedom that comes only when truth is faced, rather than fled.
Chuck Colson: Nixon loyalist who found hope in true obedience
Long before he turned his life over to God, Chuck Colson burned with faith.
While working as an assistant to Massachusetts Senator Leverett Saltonstall (R), he met Richard Nixon — then vice president — and, by his own later admission, instantly became “a Nixon fanatic.” That loyalty, unwavering and severe, would become the defining feature of his life. It was also what made him so effective — and so dangerous.
For the first time in his adult life, Colson was forced to confront who he was without title, access, or leverage.
Hopelessly devoted
Colson’s devotion was not opportunistic. It was total. He believed loyalty was a virtue, even when it demanded cruelty. Years later, he would boast that he would “walk over my own grandmother” to re-elect Nixon. The line was meant to shock, but it also clarified something essential: Colson understood obedience as a moral good, independent of mercy or restraint. Colson was not a cynic pretending to believe. He was a believer who believed too much.
In Washington, that made him useful. He became the administration’s enforcer — a man willing to apply pressure, intimidate enemies, and blur lines. Politics, as Colson practiced it, was not persuasion. It was war. And war required soldiers willing to do what polite men would not.
Hatchet man
When Daniel Ellsberg leaked the Pentagon Papers, the government moved to prosecute him under the Espionage Act of 1917. For Colson, however, the embarrassment Ellsberg caused his mentor merited more than official retribution — it called for something more underhanded.
Colson’s instinct was not rebuttal but destruction: He supported efforts to smear Ellsberg as unstable and dangerous, a campaign that helped create the climate in which Nixon operatives burglarized Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office.
When Watergate collapsed the Nixon presidency, Colson collapsed with it. As legal consequences closed in, a friend pressed a copy of “Mere Christianity” into his hands and forced him to confront what power had allowed him to evade.
He pleaded guilty to obstruction of justice and became the first Nixon aide to get jail time. By then, the obedience he had given so freely had nowhere left to land.
Accustomed to command
Colson entered federal prison as a man accustomed to command. Early on, he braced himself for contempt from guards who knew who he was. Instead, one offered something worse: indifference — the unmistakable message that he was not special here and should act accordingly.
It was a small moment, but a decisive one. For the first time in his adult life, Colson was forced to confront who he was without title, access, or leverage. He was not feared or in control. He wasn’t even useful.
And so he began to learn a fundamental lesson of Christianity, one that power obscures: We are not self-sustaining. The first step toward obedience, Colson would later say, is realizing who you are when everything else is stripped away — and how dependent you are on grace you did not earn.
Scott Adams in 2002. Phil Velasquez/Chicago Tribune/Tribune News Service via Getty Images
Surprised by truth
After his release, Colson avoided the obvious paths. He did not rehabilitate his reputation through commentary. He did not return to politics as a chastened insider. Instead, he committed the remainder of his life to prisoners — men for whom dependence was not temporary.
“Christianity is not about becoming respectable,” Colson later said. “It is about becoming obedient.” Colson’s instinct for loyalty made him a quick study. But his newfound faith didn’t soften his nature as much as it reordered it toward something worthier.
To the end, Colson remained intense, structured, demanding, and — as those who doggedly proclaim the truth tend to be — dangerous.
