It was what I saw after I left my body.
Yes, I know that sounds unbelievable. It still feels unbelievable to me sometimes. But it happened. And what I saw—what I experienced—shook me to my core. I’ve never been the same since.
I was raised Catholic. Born into the rituals, the statues, the Latin prayers, the kneeling and standing and crossing myself. I memorized the Hail Mary and the Apostles’ Creed before I could write my name. I went to confession every Saturday. I believed that the church held the keys to heaven, that priests had all the answers, and that following the rules meant you were saved. That was my world. Until the moment I died.
It wasn’t a long death. Just a few minutes, really. The doctors said my heart stopped. I don’t remember any of that. What I remember is how everything faded to black… and then exploded in light.
Suddenly, I was out. Out of my body. Floating above the hospital bed, looking down at the lifeless version of myself. But that wasn’t the shocking part. The shocking part was what came next.
I was drawn—pulled, really—into this space that felt like it existed outside of time. There were no clocks, no ticking. Just presence. Pure awareness. It was warm and infinite and terrifying in its honesty. And then, I saw Him.
Jesus.
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Not an image, not a painting, not a dream… but a person. Living, radiant, real. Not how the church statues depict Him, either. His robe was simple. His hair was like wool. His eyes—oh, those eyes—looked straight into me. Into the deepest places of my soul. And what I saw in His eyes broke me.
I saw love. But not the soft, sugar-coated love we talk about at church. This was a fierce, all-consuming love that exposed everything. It was love that didn’t flatter, didn’t excuse, didn’t pretend. It was love with truth. And the truth He showed me… Catholic or not, you need to hear this.
You see, I always believed that if I followed the rituals—if I confessed my sins to a priest, if I went to Mass every Sunday, if I prayed the Rosary—I was in good standing. I believed the church was the bridge to Jesus. But when I stood in His presence, that belief melted away like mist in the sun. Because there were no rosaries in His hands. There were no gold altars behind Him. There were no titles, no hierarchies. It was just Him. And me. And a silence that asked one question:
“Did you know Me?”
Not “Did you follow the rules?”
Not “Did you recite the prayers correctly?”
Not “Did you belong to the right denomination?”
Just—“Did you know Me?”
And in that moment, I realized I hadn’t.
Yes, I had known about Him. I’d learned the stories, the theology, the creeds. But I didn’t know Him. I had never let Him become the center of my life. I had relied on religion instead of relationship. On ritual instead of surrender. And that broke my heart.
He didn’t scold me. He didn’t shame me. But He didn’t hide the truth either. It poured out of Him like light, illuminating every dark corner I had tried to keep hidden. All the ways I had pretended. All the ways I had hidden behind my religion instead of facing the raw honesty of grace.
I saw people—millions of them—busy in churches, lighting candles, bowing before statues, repeating memorized prayers… and yet so many of them had never actually met Him. They had settled for knowing about Jesus, without ever surrendering their hearts to Jesus. And that’s what wrecked me.
Because I was one of them.
And then, He did something I’ll never forget. He reached out His hand—not with anger, but with love—and placed it over my heart. And in that moment, I felt everything I had longed for my whole life: peace, wholeness, and the kind of belonging no religion could give me.
He said, gently but firmly:
“It’s not about religion. It’s about Me.”
And I understood. I saw the difference between religion and relationship. Religion tells you to earn love. Relationship reminds you that you are already loved. Religion makes you afraid of punishment. Relationship draws you into truth that sets you free.
When I came back—yes, I was brought back—I knew I couldn’t stay silent. I couldn’t unsee what I saw, couldn’t unfeel what I felt. And if you’ve ever sat in a pew and thought, “Is this really it? Is this all there is?”—then this message is for you.
Because deep down, you’ve sensed it, haven’t you?
That something wasn’t quite right.
That going through the motions didn’t fill the emptiness.
That there had to be more.
And there is.
It’s not about leaving the church. It’s about going deeper than the church ever taught you. It’s about meeting Jesus for real. Not through someone else. Not filtered through ceremony. But face to face.
Since that experience, I don’t just believe in Jesus—I know Him. I talk to Him. I walk with Him. I let Him lead my life, even when it’s uncomfortable. I don’t rely on rituals to feel safe. I rely on Him. And it’s changed everything.
If you’re Catholic, this might challenge what you’ve been taught. But truth isn’t afraid of questions. Jesus isn’t afraid of your doubt. In fact, He welcomes it. Because He wants a real connection with you—not just your church attendance.
He wants your heart.
And friend, if you’re still reading this, I believe He’s calling you now. Not to abandon everything. But to step beyond the walls. To discover the wild, beautiful, untamed love of a Savior who’s not interested in religion—but in you.
Don’t settle for secondhand faith. Don’t stop at tradition.
Go further. Ask for more.
Because on the other side of “knowing about Him” is the breathtaking wonder of knowing Him.
And once you’ve seen that…
You’ll never be the same.
