Journeying and Journaling through Matthew
I grew up with faith as a significant practice in my life. My parents were both Catholic. They went to, and we went to, Catholic schools. We went to church every Sunday and every Holy Day. We said grace before every meal. We said our prayers before bedtime. We followed the rituals and practices of our church. My parents had a strong faith. They were active members of our church community. They were devoted to the church they attended and the beliefs they held. They were great role models for me in how to put my faith into action.
They had great traditions of passing down their faith to their children, nieces and nephews, and grandchildren. For first communion, my mom would give a children’s bible. Within the pages of the bible, she would embed $1 bills. What she directed you to do as you got the bible from her was that you could only “collect” the money as you finished reading the stories in the bible. I’m sure many a bible got flipped spine up, given a good shake, and watched the money rain out. But it was more than that for her. She was intentional when putting the money in the bible, thinking of the person she gave it to and praying for them as she placed the dollar bills throughout the pages.
Thanks to my parents’ modeling, I too have a strong faith. I am very actively involved in my church. And I have tried to continue the example of a life of faith. But I left the church I grew up in. I converted to a different denomination. I developed my own practices. I made my faith my own. And for a long time, the fact that I was no longer Catholic was a struggle between my mom and me. I think she was both/and. She was both very proud of my faith and my actions, and disappointed that I hadn’t remained Catholic.
I, too, am both/and. I am both so impressed and inspired by my parents' love, devotion, and service to their church, and deeply hurt by some of the things the church did to them at the end of their lives. I am both inspired by the faith that was instilled in me at an early age and hurt by the way the Catholic church has excluded me and so many others.
I was baptized when I was just a baby. Being the youngest of 6 kids, there are no pictures of my baptism, but I’m sure it happened. My baptism was not my choice, I don’t even remember it. My church did not do altar calls. I have never been to a revival or seen altar calls except sometimes at Christian music concerts or in the movies. I am so impressed and inspired by youth or adults who make that choice to be baptized, to commit to a life of faith. I love to hear the story of when someone was first introduced to Jesus. I think it is fascinating.
For me, Jesus has always been a part of my life. When I was little, he felt more like a distant cousin who was cool to hang around with, but I didn’t really know him well. Coming from a very big family with lots of cousins - first cousins, second cousins, once removed, the whole lot - there are some cousins you connect with regularly and some you might only see at bigger family gatherings. As an adult, the amazing swath of cousins that I have has been a great support to me. And I have enjoyed getting to know them better as adults. Regardless of age differences or where we live, I have enjoyed learning about them and knowing their stories.
Over the years, I have also taken the time to get to know Jesus better. I enjoy learning more about him and hearing his stories. No matter where I have lived or where I have gone to church, I have enjoyed having Jesus right there with me by my side. I have worked hard on developing a relationship with him, both learning more about all parts of his life and sharing all parts of my life with him. Being part of a wonderful community to practice and grow in my faith helps me deepen my relationship with God. However, being a lifelong believer does not grant me any special powers, secrets, or advantages. Similarly, being baptized as an infant does not earn me more grace or love from God.
One of my best friends is Jewish. We text every day. She follows this substack, and every day after she reads my writing, we text about it. We have different faiths, but we have similar values. We follow different religions, but we love God and love people. We have differences in where and how we worship, but we know and love each other and other people in a way that is far more similar than it is different.
One of the beautiful moments my mom and I shared when she was dying was when she took my hand and said, “God is God no matter where you worship.” That was a huge gift to me. I want her to be proud of me and of the faith I had developed because of her, even if it looked different from hers. And that is a gift we can share with others. It doesn’t matter the road we started on, the detours we have taken, or how long we have been on the path, God wants all our roads, all our paths, and all our journeys to lead to a place of love for him and love and acceptance for all his children, every one. And everyone means everyone.