I’ve been retired from police work for more than three years now. I’ve worked in Catholic institutions since then. And last year my oldest daughter started in a Catholic school. Generally speaking, I couldn’t be happier with those decisions.

My former vocation tended to be a “toxic” one; a sea of incessant cynicism, and one whose agents were often tragedy, loss and evil. It was difficult to keep your head above the “optimist line.” So naturally when I started taking classes at Sacred Heart Major Seminary, I felt like I was transported into some anti-secular paradise, one that would save me from the ills of the world.

I couldn’t wait to work in a Catholic environment; to send my kids to a Catholic school. Certainly, I told myself, I’d find a utopia, an atmosphere free from trouble or struggle of any kind.

Then I retired. And quickly I realized something: human nature is present everywhere. Who was I kidding? Was I expecting too much? I thought I would enter the doors of a Catholic institution and find myself somehow swathed in perpetual ecstasy — a place filled with people whose desire to live in harmony was unparalleled.

One thing’s for sure. Every Catholic institution with which I’ve been involved so far is better than I expected. I’ve worked with some pretty amazing people. What I didn’t expect, however, was that people would be so … well, human. Perhaps my issue (and believe me, the issue is mine) was to think that life outside of police work would somehow be free from trouble. I’d told myself, for nearly one score, that the issues with which I daily dealt were not the norm. And my wife and I had done our best to surround ourselves with friends to remind us of that, decent faith-filled people who showed us the goodness of humanity. I wanted to seize their worldview and to shed the one I’d grown used to, the one so effortlessly arrayed by my friends in the police world.

What I failed to see was that being Catholic doesn’t give us immunity from being human. Nor did Jesus experience that among the people with whom he dealt. I’ve heard it said before: the devil wouldn’t be fighting so hard if we weren’t doing something good for God. Problem is, we live in a secular culture that shuns trouble of any kind, as if we really think it’s possible to escape it completely in this world.

Perhaps we’re all eternal optimists. There’s a sense that when we walk through the doors of a Catholic institution we’ll find ourselves elevated to a better place. And when we don’t, we’re frustrated. The truth is, we can only be as good as God allows us to be.

Darkness is but the absence of light; cold is but the absence of warmth and evil is but the absence of God. When our culture encounters trouble it often looks to motivational speakers, experts or self-help books for answers. And while these solutions may be replete with the latest psychological innovations to help us lead better lives, often they exclude the vehicle to help us get there: the grace of a Savior who taught us how to do it.

What I’ve started to learn is that all of us Catholics struggle. Our schools, churches and ministries will, too. But there is a difference. As long as we continue to aspire toward God, though we may labor, we’ll rise above it. Then “they’ll know we are Christians by our love,” not our tolerance for anything less.

I’ve heard some say that Catholics/Christians are hypocrites. My answer to that is, “What’s your point?” David was a great Jewish king who fell to his sins. Solomon was filled with Godly wisdom, but faltered. The Bible is full of figures whose lives were sated with trouble. It doesn’t mean that God didn’t use them. A saint isn’t someone who never falls, but someone who falls as regularly as you and I, yet realizes their need to get up and return to God.

The next time you’re hurt or feel like “throwing in the towel” on us petty Catholics, do yourself a favor: pat yourself on the back. For it’s a sure sign you care enough to be discouraged in the first place. And that’s not a bad thing.

Here’s some great news. I skipped ahead a few chapters. Spoiler alert: God wins in the end. And that should be enough to put a smile on anyone’s face.

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Paul Stuligross teaches theology at Livonia Ladywood High School and is a former police officer.