O God,
in the fullness of time you revealed your love
in Jesus the Lord.
On the eve of his death,
as a sign of your covenant,
he washed the feet of his disciples
and gave himself as food and drink.
Give us life at this sacred banquet
and joy in humble service,
that, bound to Christ in all things,
we may pass over from this world to your kingdom,
where he lives with you now and always in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God for ever and ever.
Catholic Sensibility 
As a definitely non-Scriptural complement to this, about how conversion can feel (and why we may fear it), here’s something from Tony Kushner from a generation ago:
And yet still: “My yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
These co-exist – if you cling to Hope, rather than expectation.
From the opening pages of The Portal of The Mystery of Hope (written circa 1911, published 1929)
Charles Péguy (1873-1914)
Translated by David Louis Schindler, Jr. ((c)Eerdmans 1996)
The faith that I love best, says God, is hope.
Faith does not surprise me.
It is not surprising.
I am so resplendent in my creation.
. . . .
And especially in children.
In the gaze and in the voice of children.
Because children are more my creatures.
Than men are.
They haven’t yet been defeated by life.
Or earth.
And of them all they are my servants.
Above all.
. . . .
I am so resplendent in my creation.
That in order really not to see me these poor people would have to be blind.
Charity, says God, that does not surprise me.
It’s not surprising.
These poor creatures are so miserable that unless they had a heart of stone, how could they not have love for each other.
. . . .
But hope, says God, that is something that surprises me.
Even me.
That is surprising.
That these poor children see how things are going and believe that tomorrow things will go better.
That they see how things are going today and believe that they will go better tomorrow morning.
That is surprising and it’s by far the greatest marvel of our grace.
And I’m surprised by it myself.
. . . .
What surprises me, says God, is hope.
And I can’t get over it.
This little hope who seems like nothing at all.
This little girl hope.
Immortal.
Because my three virtues, says God.
The three virtues, my creatures.
My daughters, my children.
Are themselves like my other creatures.
Of the race of men.
Faith is a loyal Wife.
Charity is a Mother.
An ardent mother, noble-hearted.
Or an older sister, who is like a mother.
Hope is the little girl, nothing at all.
. . . .
The little hope moves forward in between her two older sisters and one scarcely notices her.
On the path to salvation, on the earthly path, on the rocky path of salvation, on the interminable road, on the road in between her two older sisters the little hope.
Pushes on.
. . . .
Faith sees what is.
. . . .
Charity loves what is.
. . . .
Hope sees what has not yet been and what will be.
She loves what has not yet been and what will be.