Already known to our readers, Mr. Luis Miguel Boullon publishes a brief account of his process of conversion to Catholicism. From Protestant minister to fervent Catholic, he suffered abandonment by his family and his friends. Thanks to the judicious involvement of a good priest he came to know Christ and His spotless Church. What the passage from error to truth was like, the ways an enemy of the Church thinks beforehand, and his change after coming to know her.

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“The Devil Is a Protestant”

Testimony of My Conversion to Catholicism
By Luis Miguel Boullón

“The Devil Is a Protestant”, was the first sentence I spoke, after my conversion, to those who had listened to me for more than twelve years as their pastor. The scandal was enormous. Some had already noticed that my vacation had been far too hasty and perhaps even excessively prolonged. It was a strange vacation even for my family, who saw me reluctant to engage in our usual practices at home, such as reading and explaining the Bible. We had already had too many quarrels because of my new ideas.

“In the beginning was the Word”

I vividly remember the first stirrings of rage I felt on reading an article in this Review I now hold so dear, the very one that honors me by publishing this piece. I found the piece too radical in its assertions, too emphatic compared with what I was accustomed to reading.

It did not leave me many unguarded ‘flanks’ from which to attack. Either I refuted the heart of the matter or there was no point in picking apart three or four aspects, as I had been taught to do automatically and unconsciously. Catholics generally seem to feel a certain embarrassment about laying all their cards on the table, and since they do not show everything clearly, it is very easy to set fire to their tents, because they leave too many loose flaps.

Personally, I never resorted to what I now understand as “black legends,” because it seemed pointless to me to debate on the basis of personal or group miseries without first having demolished the very logic of their existence. That is what I did with certain sects, or with subjects such as evolution or certain human rights as they are commonly understood.

I admit that many of those who at that time were my brethren fall into that error, trying to bring down the “adversary” morally by telling him aberrant things about his faith. But one good argument, firmly planted, is enough to force a man to retreat into the trenches of the Bible and refuse to come out until the storm we started calms down at least a little. But the same scheme does not work for all of us. Many are governed not so much by reason as by the pleasure of winning any contest.

The article in question forced me to think with ideas alone, because that is what it was about. My manual of Bible quotations for every occasion was of little use to me. Whatever I said would be answered with something else. That was not the way.

I believe I spent some five or six weeks pondering the problem, until I resolved to go to the Catholic parish near my church. The priest there lavished attentions on me every time we met. The truth is that he was always far more eager to see me than I was to see him. On occasion we were forced to meet in public because of obligations in the town. But ordinarily we did not meet. He was what is now called a “new priest,” with a guitar permanently in his hands and a great desire to draw close to me.

First Confession in Bad Faith

I would take advantage — God forgive me — to draw out of him statements that scandalized my congregation. The poor man never understood that ecumenism often serves more to belittle Catholics than to draw the separated closer. One gets the feeling that if the Church can yield on matters so grave, matters that separated us for centuries, then she really did not care about them as much as we did, we who would never change a single jot of our doctrine.

Another thing I used to do — I am ashamed to recall it — was to send my young people out to argue with those of the parish. The poor parishioners found themselves in serious trouble on those occasions.

Deep down I was taking advantage of the fact that the Catholic youth were very poorly formed. As we used to say behind their backs: they only go to the parish to have fun, to hand out things to the poor, and to do ‘life dynamics,’ but of doctrine and the Scriptures they know nothing.

We enjoyed defeating them with the silliest things possible. Sometimes tastier topics came up, but the usual arguments were enough at least to silence them.

That afternoon the usual priest was not there. He had been removed from the parish because of a human misery understandable in someone so “warm” in his manner. He fell into the devil’s nets under the tempting form of a parishioner, whom he did not even marry.

In place of the usual pastor there came out to see me, with a less obliging face, an old priest with a penetrating gaze. He had been ‘punished’ by being relegated to the care of the parish of our little town. Over the previous thirty years the population had gone from mostly Catholic to a majority that was evangelical or non-practicing.

I generally went there to refresh my memory and stock up on material that I would later work into my preaching, or to sound out the Catholic view of some matter.

Father M. was not so open. He received me kindly, but with distance. I raised matters of common interest, and he asked me for time to settle in and learn the state of his flock. I noticed that several of the posters we used to give them from time to time — real trophies of ours planted in enemy territory — had been torn down.

In truth I was left a bit disarmed, but we managed to chat about almost everything. Almost… because on doctrine he began to bite. I began to answer as usual, citing one Bible verse after another with precision, to prove his error or my position.

When he had me in a tight spot, I said to him: “Father M… let us begin at the beginning” And the man of God, whom I supposed to be angry with me, said: “Very well: in the beginning was the Word and…”

I burst out laughing nervously. Apart from answering me with a phrase used at Mass (at least in the traditional one), he was imitating my voice quoting the Bible!

“Pastor Boullón,” he then said to me, “We will not get very far arguing Bible in hand. You already know that the Devil was the first in every crime… and that is why he was also the first Evangelical.”

That sat very badly with me. He was insulting me to my face, calling me a devil! Without letting me explain what I thought, he went on:

– Yes… he was the first evangelical. Remember that the Devil tried to tempt Christ with the Bible in hand!

– But Christ answered them with the Bible…

– Then you prove my point, Pastor… both of them argued from the Bible, only Jesus used it well… and shut his mouth.

He took his Bible and read me what I already knew: that when the Lord was fasting the devil took him to Jerusalem, and setting him on the pinnacle of the temple repeated to him Psalm 90:11-12: “For it is written that God commanded his angels to guard you and to bear you up in their hands, lest you strike your foot against a stone”

But the Lord answered him with Deuteronomy 6:16: But it is also written “You shall not tempt the Lord your God”. And the devil went away confounded.

I too went away, like the devil, confounded. I was furious at having been called a devil, and, what is worse, at being treated like the devil in the desert!

I believe it was the most salutary conversation of my life.

The Devil’s Tactic

I got home furious. I felt humiliated and sad. It was not possible for the same Bible to prove two different things. That is a blasphemy. Of necessity one must be right and the other misinterprets. I sought help in the library I had been enriching over time. I consulted several authors as ‘evangelical’ as myself, but from other congregations. We did not agree on the same things, even though we all used the Bible to support what we said and to prove that the others were wrong.

I gathered my strength and, at the first opportunity, descended on Father M.’s parish office. He received me as kindly as the last time, only now his distance was made less sharp by his amused and curious look at whatever reason was bringing me back to his side.

I let loose a half-hour discourse on salvation by faith and not by works. I concluded — brilliantly, I believe — with the necessity of abandoning the Church. And I closed by taking the priest’s Bible and reading him Acts 16:31: What must I do to be saved?, asked the jailer. Believe in the Lord Jesus — Paul answered — and you will be saved, you and all your household.

I drank a sip of the tea he had offered me and looked at him defiantly, awaiting his answer. Eternal minutes of silence went by.

When I cleared my throat, the priest said to me:

– “Will you continue the reading of St. Paul?”

– “I have finished, Father M.”

– “What do you mean, finished? Go on! Turn to Corinthians 13:32.

– I read aloud: “Though my faith were so great as to remove mountains, if I have not charity, I am nothing”

– Then faith…

– Faith… faith… faith is what saves

– What a novelty! He says to me, laughing. I do not know exactly who created the Protestant strategy of arguing from the Bible, but I think it may well have been the demons, who have now found a good means of saving themselves.

– Saving themselves?

– Yes… saving themselves, my friend. Is it not the apostle James who tells us that even the demons themselves believe in God? And if faith alone saves…

– …

– Do not fall silent, Pastor… sit down here and you will feel a little better. If you want to go on like the Devil, tempting me with the Bible, let me remind you that in that very place we are told that such faith will not save the demons, because “as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so faith apart from works is dead” (ch. 2) And even so, we Catholics do not say that it is faith alone or works alone. When the Lord is asked what we must do to be saved, He says, “If you would enter life, keep the commandments.” There you have the complete answer.

He walked me to the door and said: I leave you with two recommendations. The first is to beware of the brethren of your congregation. They already suspect you for coming so often. The second is to come back when you can bring me some Bible verse — just one will do — proving that only what is in the Bible ought to be taught.

I walked home more worried about the gossip than about the challenge. That part would be easy.

“The Bible Alone”

While I was searching for a verse to answer the priest, I realized that I was standing at the very heart of the matter that had first brought me to that parish with new eyes. “If it is the Bible alone,”I said to myself, “then the problem of the article is settled: it must be proved by the Bible or it is not proved at all.”

You can already imagine the result. Indeed I found nothing. In years of ministry, I had never noticed that the central point — namely, that only the doctrine contained in the Bible must be believed and taught — is not in the Bible. I found numerous biblical passages that grant to doctrines handed down orally, by tradition, the same authority as the teachings written in the Bible.

From that point on, many other questions kept arising from my conversations with Father M. and from reading this review and a great deal of literature written for apologetic purposes.

The World’s Wages

For a moment I will turn attention away from my forays into the Catholic parish. Perhaps because a priest is essentially different from a Protestant “Pastor,” or perhaps because of his experience in various fields (confession, spiritual direction, etc.), Father M. was right in his warning about the looks my congregants were giving me on account of those “not strictly ecumenical” visits.

I had not yet noticed that distrust, but watching more closely I began to note reservations, censures, and indirect reproaches. War had not yet been declared. They merely distrusted.

I was deeply disappointed, but I did not let temptation defeat me. The devil — I thought — was tempting me with Rome, and to that end was hardening hearts.

After a week of anguish, I sat down with my wife to talk. I needed to unburden myself. I had reached a point where I did not want to go back to the Catholic parish, yet neither did I feel at peace with that.

After dinner, we prayed with the children and they went off to bed. I sat down and opened my heart to my wife. She had been a loving confidante and my companion in hardships and joys. She listened to me attentively.

Her words were as simple as her conclusion: I must immediately distance myself from the Catholic priest and try to regain the trust of my congregation. That was the priority. We had an obligation of faith, and we had a family to support. There would be no further discussion. The case was settled… for her.

I tried to comply with everything. She had always been the sensible one, holding me back from my follies. Giving up my visits to the parish was easier on the body than on my soul. Something about that atmosphere drew me, and besides, I longed for the company of that provocative, good-natured priest.

Harder still was winning back the trust of my congregants. As visible proof they demanded that I attack the Church more than ever, to demonstrate publicly that I harbored no sympathy for her.

This cost me dearly, for I had to preach while omitting those points on which I already differed from my former thinking.

In time, my family and my congregation turned their backs on me, and that was the great cross I had to bear for loving Christ in His Church.

My Dear Friend Takes His Leave

I have not wanted to set down here all the things the good Father M. and I talked over for weeks and weeks. I would visit him furtively and he would welcome me with kind fatherliness. I circled around the subject and tried to answer the wise questions with which he challenged me. How I hated having to admit he was right!

Time made me more perceptive of his subtleties and ironies. In some mysterious way this priest had me captivated. He would corner me to the death, yet always leave me an honorable way out. He delighted in dismantling all my arguments.

His style was unique: he would demolish my arguments, accusations, and refutations first by logic, leaving me two options… either to look like a fool or to verify that foolishness for myself. Then, and only then, he would invite me to examine the point I was raising — if it made sense — from the standpoint of the Sacred Scriptures. I suppose one of his greatest strengths was his solid learning and his deep life of piety.

I remember perfectly one cold morning when I received a telephone message from the parish. He was asking me to visit him at a nearby hospital. Without stopping to think about the precautions I usually took to keep my congregants from growing even more irritated with me, I dropped everything and set out. There I learned of the painful cancer he was suffering — he never showed any sign of suffering — and of the little time he had left. My head was spinning. I grieved at the departure of one whom I already considered a friend.

I made a decision: I would make our friendship public and would visit him daily. A few days later he was moved, at his own request, to his residence.

From that day on I accompanied him daily. I set many commitments aside. The tension began to grow until it reached open verbal attacks and threats of stripping me of my position and my salary. My family was threatened with poverty.

Those were days of great anguish. I knew I was walking the right paths. I was even thinking of seeking admission into the Church. The fears and doubts from before Father M.’s hospitalization had dissipated. I did not want to repent of my errors or receive pardon and consolation from anyone else. But the situation surrounding me was so complex that it paralyzed me.

I prayed a great deal and went to ask Father M.’s counsel. He received me with great kindness and listened attentively to my problems. He already knew them. He spoke to me of the fortitude of those martyrs who took no account of flesh or blood or riches, but only loved the truth and bore public witness to their adherence to the faith. “Better to enter Heaven poor than to go to hell for the sake of comforts,”he pronounced.

As I said at the beginning, I gathered my congregation and made a declaration of my conversion. “The Devil is a Protestant!” I told them, to open the talk. Then came the jeering, and they did not let me finish my explanations.

Later I gathered my family and went over every point with them, answering all their objections about the faith and about our situation. My wife did not argue much: she threw me out of the house. That night I slept sheltered by Father M., who calmed me about the quarrel. From then on, and years after my conversion, I was never again admitted into my home as father and husband. Today I visit them as often as I am allowed, but their hearts remain hardened. Father M. had many words for me, but those that touched me most were his confession that he had offered his life for the salvation of my soul… and that he was glad to see the good bargain already sealed. May God hear the prayers of my good friend in Heaven for my wife and my six children, that in His own time and way they may live the life of grace of the holy faith

Rome… My Sweet Home

I begged the good priest to prepare me to abjure my errors and be admitted into the Church. He arranged everything, and one April morning in 2001 I was received into the bosom of the Bride of Christ. In June of that same year my dear friend surrendered his soul to the Lord, deeply mourned by all of us who knew him best. He was mourned by the sick and the prisoners he visited, by the children and young people of catechesis, by the poor and needy he consoled, by the faithful who came to him seeking counsel and God’s pardon. It is in tribute to him that I write these lines. My dear priest and the review Cristiandad.org were my two great supports and driving forces, both of my conversion and of my apostolic zeal in working especially with converts and those preparing for conversion.

After his departure the parish was administered by a priest closer in style to Father M.’s predecessor. I felt this keenly, because by his preaching and his conduct he belied many of those great eternal principles I had come to know and love.

I sometimes wonder about the timeliness of the many changes that are made more to please the wicked than to gratify the good. I remember that my priest friend was not much given to yielding to us, but rather to showing us all the flags, even the most radical ones. And it was precisely these that most outraged me and yet at the same time attracted me.

But I persevere in love for the Church of all time, for that doctrine of which the Lord said that Heaven and Earth would pass away but not one jot of it would be changed.

I know well, from my own experience and from that of so many who have shared their conversion testimonies with me, that such flirtations with error do not produce conversions. And the few they do produce are of a very different kind — superficial and emotional — from true conversions, the kind that produce saints. The reality is what I saw daily as a Protestant Pastor, when the poor formation of Catholics and the confusion produced by false ecumenism filled the pews of our churches and the pockets of our evangelical congregations. The religious ignorance of the faithful is the thing most welcomed by the sects, because, being often the daughter of spiritual sloth, it goes hand in hand with intellectual sloth. Then anything that stirs their emotions, that makes them feel loved, is enough; and afterwards comes the customary sermon, to make them doubt first and then give them categorical answers. That destabilizes them, and then our assurance attracts them. And then we go out into the street to shout against dogmas!

Now, together with you, I can go to the feet of Most Holy Mary and beg that, for love of the Divine Blood of her Beloved Son, she may obtain the conversion of the pagans, of heretics and schismatics, and that, making the Church triumph over her enemies, she may establish the Peace of Christ in the Reign of Christ.

Author: Luis Miguel Boullón