I don’t understand any of this, I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Antonia’s smile was gentle, reminiscent of her sons.

Understanding comes with time, she replied.

Carlo always said that faith is not about understanding everything at once, but about trusting enough to take the next step.

She guided me to a quiet corner away from the crowd, and we talked for nearly an hour.

She shared stories of Carlo’s childhood, his extraordinary compassion from an early age, his talent with computers, and his deep spiritual awareness that seemed present almost from infancy.

I shared my experiences with her son’s postumous appearances, expecting skepticism, or at least surprise.

Instead, she nodded as if hearing familiar news.

Carlo continues his mission, she said simply.

In life, he used technology to reach people with the message of God’s love.

In death, he reaches people directly.

You’re not the first to experience his presence, though your story is certainly unique.

She reached into her purse and withdrew a small card with Carlo’s photograph.

On the back was a prayer for his intercession.

“Keep this with you,” she said, pressing it into my hand.

“Not because you need an intermediary to reach God.

You don’t, but as a reminder of what you’ve experienced on days when doubt returns.

As we parted, she embraced me like an old friend.

Carlo chose you for a reason, she whispered.

Trust that reason even when you can’t see it clearly.

That encounter with Antonia anchored my experiences in a new way.

What had seemed isolated and personal, perhaps even a product of my own psychological need, was now connected to a larger pattern, a continuing story that extended beyond my individual journey.

In the months that followed, I began cautiously sharing parts of my experience with others.

First with Father Josephe, then with a small circle of trusted colleagues and friends.

Their responses varied from fascination to skepticism to concern.

But what mattered most was breaking the isolation that had surrounded my spiritual awakening.

The former atheist professor was now part of a community of seekers, each on their own journey toward truth that transcended purely materialist explanations.

As the second anniversary of Carlo’s appearance in my classroom approached, I made a decision that would have been unthinkable 2 years earlier.

After months of study, reflection, and numerous conversations with Father Joseph, I chose to be baptized into the Catholic faith.

It wasn’t a decision made in haste or emotion, but through the same careful intellectual consideration I had once applied to my atheism.

I had investigated the historical evidence for Christianity, studied the philosophical arguments for God’s existence, and most importantly reflected deeply on my own experiences, not just with Carlo, but the gradual awakening to transcendent reality that had followed.

My baptism was a quiet affair, attended only by Father Josephe Gabriela, who served as my sponsor, and a few close friends who had supported my journey.

Afterward, standing in the cathedral courtyard, Gabriella asked the question I knew many were thinking.

Professor Richi, aren’t you concerned about how this will affect your academic reputation? Many of your colleagues still see religion as intellectual surrender.

I considered her question carefully before answering.

Gabriella, two years ago, I would have agreed with them.

I built my identity around a certain kind of intellectual approach that dismissed faith as weakness or delusion.

But what I’ve discovered is that true rationality doesn’t mean limiting our understanding to what can be measured in a laboratory.

It means following evidence wherever it leads, even when it points to dimensions of reality beyond our current scientific frameworks.

I smiled remembering Carlo’s words.

Sometimes the mind needs to be humble enough to recognize that it’s not the only path to knowledge.

News of my baptism did indeed create waves in academic circles.

Several colleagues openly questioned my intellectual credibility.

A particularly scathing article appeared in a philosophical journal citing my conversion as evidence of the emotional vulnerability of even trained intellectuals to religious mythology.

There was even a petition from a small group of parents requesting that I be removed from teaching certain courses, arguing that I could no longer objectively present philosophical perspectives critical of religion.

The headmaster, to his credit, defended my academic freedom while ensuring that my curriculum remained balanced and rigorous.

Professor Richi continues to teach the full spectrum of philosophical thought, he assured concerned parties.

Her personal journey has, if anything, deepened her commitment to thorough intellectual inquiry.

The criticism stung, particularly from colleagues whose respect I had valued, but it also liberated me from the fear that had initially kept my experiences private.

Once the worst had happened, public ridicule from my peers, and I had survived what was left of fear.

I began speaking more openly about my journey, not procilitizing, but simply sharing honestly when asked, to my surprise, for every colleague who distanced themselves, another engaged with genuine curiosity.

I don’t share your conclusions, one fellow professor of philosophy told me, but I respect the intellectual integrity with which you’ve approached this transformation.

You’ve given me much to think about.

Most surprising were the emails and letters from former students who had silently struggled with their own spiritual questions under my formerly atheistic teaching.

You gave us permission to think beyond materialism.

One wrote, “Your journey has validated questions many of us were afraid to ask.

” 3 years after Carlo first appeared in my classroom, I received an unexpected invitation to speak at a conference on faith and reason at the Vatican.

The topic was contemporary intellectual conversions.

and the organizers had heard of my story through Father Joseph’s connections.

My initial reaction was refusal.

I still felt like a novice in matters of faith, hardly qualified to address such an august gathering.

But as I considered the invitation, I recognized it as an opportunity to bridge worlds that rarely communicated meaningfully.

The academic skepticism I had once embodied and the faith tradition I was now exploring.

My presentation titled From Nature to Acutis, an intellectual journey beyond materialism attempted to articulate the philosophical underpinnings of my transformation without diminishing either the value of critical thought or the reality of transcendent experience.

The greatest obstacle to genuine intellectual inquiry.

I told the gathered theologians, philosophers, and church leaders is not skepticism, but certainty.

Whether that certainty manifests as religious fundamentalism or materialist dogmatism.

Both close the mind to evidence that challenges existing frameworks.

I spoke candidly about my former dismissal of religious experience as psychological projection or neurological misfiring and how my encounters with Carlo had forced me to reconsider those assumptions.

What does it mean for an empiricist when empirical reality itself expands beyond our explanatory models? When we experience phenomena that existing scientific paradigms cannot account for, true rationality doesn’t mean rejecting such experiences.

It means expanding our frameworks to incorporate them.

I concluded with reflections on Carlo himself, not just as the catalyst for my personal transformation, but as a symbol of integration between faith and modernity.

Carlo Acutis represents something profound for our technological age.

A young person who embraced both digital innovation and ancient sacramental practices, who saw no contradiction between computer programming and eucharistic adoration.

Perhaps this integration offers a model for our fragmented intellectual landscape where science and spirituality, reason, and faith are so often falsely positioned as adversaries rather than complimentary paths toward a fuller understanding of reality.

The response was overwhelming, not universal approval certainly, but engaged, thoughtful discussion that continued long after the formal session ended.

Among those who approached me afterward was a prominent neuroscientist who had studied mystical experiences using brain imaging technology.

Your account fascinates me, he said, not because it contradicts science, but because it invites us to expand our scientific understanding.

The brain activity we observe during mystical experiences is unquestionably real.

The question is whether it’s merely internal or whether it represents an authentic perception of dimensions beyond ordinary awareness.

Our conversation led to an unexpected collaboration, a research project exploring the phenomenology of mystical experience across faith traditions, examining both subjective accounts and neurological correlates.

This interdicciplinary work became a second vocation alongside my teaching, allowing me to maintain my commitment to rigorous inquiry while honoring the spiritual dimensions of human experience.

5 years have now passed since Carlo Acutis appeared in my classroom and changed everything.

His cause for beatatification has advanced.

The church has recognized a miracle attributed to his intercession, the healing of a Brazilian child with a congenital pancreatic condition.

I attended the beatatification ceremony in Aisi in October 2020, watching with tears as the boy who had once sat in my classroom was officially recognized as blessed Carlo Acutis.

Doom.

The ceremony was simultaneously foreign to my intellectual background and deeply familiar to my transformed heart, a paradox I have come to recognize as central to the spiritual journey.

I still teach philosophy at Licheo Classico Alesandro Manzone.

Though my approach has evolved considerably, my classroom no longer has a no religious symbols policy.

Instead, it has become a space where diverse perspectives are genuinely welcomed, where faith and doubt can coexist as companions in the search for truth.

I still teach NZ’s critique of religion, but now alongside Kakagard’s defense of faith.

I still value critical thinking, but now recognize its limitations when approaching transcendent reality.

My colleagues have largely adjusted to my transformation, some with continuing skepticism, others with respectful disagreement, a few with their own cautious spiritual questions.

The academic world is changing too, albeit slowly, becoming more open to research that explores the intersection of science, philosophy, and spirituality without predetermined materialist conclusions.

Carlo has not appeared to me again as he did in those first vivid encounters, though I occasionally sense his presence in more subtle ways.

A familiar fragrance that arises during prayer.

A particular quality of light on significant anniversaries, moments of unexpected clarity when wrestling with difficult questions.

I no longer need these signs as I once did.

They are gifts rather than necessary confirmations.

My faith has matured beyond the need for extraordinary experiences, finding sustenance instead in ordinary moments of connection, in the Eucharist that Carlo so loved, in conversations with students and colleagues, in the quiet certainty that reality is far more wonderful and mysterious than my former materialist worldview could ever have imagined.

If you’ve been moved by this story of transformation, I invite you to join our community by subscribing to this channel.

Your own spiritual journey matters regardless of where you currently stand in relation to faith.

What extraordinary encounters have shaped your understanding of reality? What questions are you wrestling with about the relationship between reason and mystery? Please share your experiences in the comments below.

Each testimony adds another thread to this beautiful tapestry of human spiritual experience.

Remember that wherever you are on your journey, skeptic, seeker, or believer, you’re not alone.

Together, we can explore these profound dimensions of existence with both intellectual honesty and open hearts.

I still have questions.

Of course, doubt remains a companion on this journey, though its character has changed from dismissive skepticism to humble recognition of mystery.

There are days when my former materialist certainties reassert themselves, when I question whether my experiences with Carlo were truly supernatural or merely products of psychological need and cognitive anomaly.

But even on those days, I cannot return to my former closed world view.

Something fundamental has shifted in my understanding of reality, an opening to possibilities beyond what I can explain, measure, or fully comprehend.

And in that opening, I have found not the intellectual surrender I once feared, but a more expansive, humble, and ultimately more honest approach to truth.

Carlo Acutis once wrote, “Happiness is looking toward God.

Sadness is looking toward yourself.

” In my former life as a militant atheist, I was indeed looking only toward myself, my intellect, my certainties, my sense of superiority over those who believed.

The happiness I have discovered is not the fasile comfort I once disparaged in believers, but a profound recognition that reality extends beyond my limited perception, that mystery is not weakness, but truth, and that love, the kind Carlo embodied in life and somehow continues to manifest beyond death, is the ultimate reality toward which all genuine seeking leads.

Whether you are a skeptic as I was, a believer as Carlo was, or somewhere on the journey between, I invite you to consider the possibility that our most fundamental assumptions about reality might be due for reconsideration and that the most rational position might be openness to dimensions of existence beyond our current understanding.

Today, when my students ask if I believe in miracles, I tell them about a teenage boy who appeared in a classroom where he had no business being, who knew things he had no way of knowing, and who gradually led a hardened atheist professor toward a reality she had spent her life denying.

Whether you call that a miracle or something else, I tell them, depends on your framework.

But what matters is not the label, but the willingness to encounter reality as it presents itself, even when it challenges everything you thought you knew.

That perhaps is Carlo’s most enduring legacy in my life.

Not just the dramatic visitations or the intellectual reorientation, but the invitation to approach life with both critical thought and openhearted wonder, never sacrificing one for the other.

In that integration of mind and heart, of reason and faith, I have found a fullness of life that I never imagined possible.

On that rainy November afternoon when a young saint knocked on my classroom

« Prev