Anselm

Born and raised as a cradle Catholic, raised by my grandmother, a quiet but powerful pillar of faith in my life. Every Sunday, I followed her to Mass at Church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. There was no formal catechism, just the rhythm of her devotion and the comfort of sitting beside her in the pew. But as I grew older — through school, into work life, the burdens of the world began to pull me away. The distractions, the stress, the fatigue — all of it made prayer and Church feel like distant memories.

There were many times I drifted away from the Church. During those years, there was a void — not loud or dramatic, but deep. No reflection, no spiritual life, just survival. My days revolved around work, fire-fighting problems, feeling stressed and empty. I had nothing to look forward to beyond the next deadline or paycheck.

And beneath that routine was something darker: loneliness.

Loneliness isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers — late at night, when the lights are off and the screens are dark. “You’re alone.” “No one really sees you.” “You don’t belong.” It’s like a slow death — the kind that erodes your spirit without you even realising it. You can be surrounded by people and still feel invisible. You can have a full schedule and still feel empty.

In 2013, I hit a breaking point. I was working as a desktop engineer when a crisis at work left me feeling completely lost. That’s when I remembered God. Not as some distant idea, but as someone real — someone I used to feel close to as a child, sitting quietly in Church beside my grandmother. So I started going back to Church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary after work — not to attend Mass, but just to pray alone near the statue of Mary. If I saw Mass starting, I’d stay outside, looking in through the stained glass, feeling unworthy. But I kept coming back.

Eventually, I took the first step. I walked in. I attended my first Mass in years. It was awkward, emotional — but it was also homecoming.

I came across Landings by chance — through a copy of Catholic News I picked up at the Church of Christ the King. That moment led me to the Landings program at the Church of the Holy Spirit, a place that welcomed Catholics like me who had been away. There, I found community. People who understood what it meant to struggle with faith, with loneliness, with returning after years of silence. They became friends. They helped me to persevere.

But the journey wasn’t over.

Not long after returning, I faced one of the greatest tests of my life. The police came to my door asking me to identify my father’s body. He had been the foundation of our family. His sudden passing left us all reeling. I had to step up, take charge, and support my mother and brother. In that grief, I could have fallen apart. But instead, I turned to prayer. I leaned on my faith community. I remembered that “The Lord is my Shepherd,” and that even in the darkest valley, I did not need to fear.

Through the sacraments — especially Reconciliation and the Eucharist — I found strength. In prayer, I found peace. And in the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, I found hope. Because if death is not the end for Him, then it isn’t the end for us either.

This Easter, I feel more rooted in my faith than ever before. I still face struggles — loneliness still creeps in sometimes — but now I face them with a deeper understanding of love, sacrifice, and redemption. I know now that love is not a feeling — it’s an action. It’s putting others before ourselves, just as Jesus did on the cross.

One moment that continues to inspire me is when Jesus calls Judas “friend” even as he is betrayed (Matthew 26:50). We are all sinners, just like Judas — yet, after 2,000 years, Jesus still calls us friends.

That gives me courage. That gives me hope.

To anyone who feels distant from God, especially those battling loneliness or grief, I say this: Take the first step. Go to Mass. Talk to someone. Pray — even if you don’t know how. Faith is a journey, not a race. And no matter how far you’ve wandered, God calls you “friend.”

And that’s more than enough to begin again. 

Anselm Lee

Shared with love by Landings Singapore.

Also featured on CatholicStories.sg to reach more hearts in our Catholic family.