Tears well up in the eyes of the former U.S. Army combat photographer as he describes his painful, often tortuous path to God.
“I was very depressed when I was in the Army,” said Eric Cerami, 31, who entered into full communion with the Catholic Church at the Easter Vigil Mass at St. William of York Church in Stafford April 4. “I was trying to find meaning in life but I didn’t want it to be God-related, so I just carried on with my life.”
Cerami’s pursuit of meaning kept leading him back to the question of who God was. And that meant considering if God was the God of the Southern Baptists that he encountered as a teenager growing up in East Texas.
“They came on really strong,” said Cerami. “My sister went with a friend to a Baptist church and when she told them that her family was Catholic, they said that Catholics go to hell. Then I came across other Baptists in the Army that also came on too strong.”
Cerami’s parents were Catholic but had stopped practicing by the time he was born, and he was never baptized. Still, he clung to a vague sort of Catholic identity and even put “Catholic” on his army dog tag. And he had no confusion — he was not a Protestant.
“In basic training, my non-denominational buddy went to a church service and he said, ‘That was the worst service I’ve ever been to,’ and I asked, ‘What was wrong with it?,’ ” said Cerami. “He said: ‘They were all in robes and were chanting in Latin.’ And all I could think was, ‘That sounds like it should be.’ It was a Catholic Mass and I just thought that was so funny.”
He left the Army in 2022 and became a Prince William County police officer in 2024. On the outside, it looked like his life was fulfilled. “But I still felt like there was something missing and I didn’t know what it was,” he said. “I had a nice house, a wife and two kids, but there was a void and I thought, ‘I need to be going to church.’ ”
Confronting the brokenness of humanity, and the suddenness of death in his police work made a strong impression on Cerami. “I’ve been to a lot of death scenes,” he said. “There was one week when I was going to one a day and it was terrible. One lady really stuck out to me. She had crucifixes everywhere and she just died in her sleep. We don’t talk about religion in my job, but I did think that having those crucifixes around made it easier for her, like she was probably looking forward to it.”
After years of agonizing about the meaning of life, Cerami walked into the doors of St. William of York Church on Divine Mercy Sunday 2025.
“I came by myself,” he said. “Then the fourth Sunday after Easter, I walked up to Father (Robert J.) DeMartino and asked, ‘How do I join the church? ‘ ”
Clad in jeans with a rosary hanging from his belt loop, Cerami smiles when he talks about the years of struggle that led to his conversion of heart. “It had been in the back of my head for years,” he said. “It’s like God was telling me that I needed to be part of his church and that’s why I was not fulfilled.Then when I went to OCIA (formerly RCIA). I saw this big Catholic community and I realized that the meaning of life is not me. It’s definitely something bigger than myself.”
For now, Cerami prays that his wife and kids will also join him in the big Catholic community one day. “God’s got a plan,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but I have faith that it will all work out.”
