My history

My mother says about herself “I was Catholic before I was born.” This is also true for me. I was raised in what I can only describe as a liberal Catholic Church. In the days post-Vatican II, my church in Northern Oklahoma was one that took the kneelers out of the pews, brought the font onto the alter, and added Children’s Masses complete with visits from Santa Claus and the Great Pumpkin. That church was truly second home to me. It was the only way that I knew to be Catholic.

When I was in high school, my family moved from the town I grew up in. The spiritual home of my childhood was gone. I soon learned that for most people “liberal Catholic” is an oxymoron. I felt out of place and uncomfortable in the more traditional church. Therefore, like others before me, I went searching for my spiritual home.

I can’t say that my faith journey has had any structure to it. I’ve attended other Christian services, read books on Wicca, sat in Native American sweat houses, taken courses on eastern cultures, dabbled in meditation and observed the practices of my Islamic friends. My instincts and emotions have guided my spiritual journey so far, I have along the way developed a points-of-view regarding the nature of religion, spirituality and God different from those I have encountered so far.

For myself, I’ve discovered that I operate much more consistently in a structured environment. While meditation and solitary practices are nice, I am, in fact, too lazy to continue them on my own. I also found myself missing the ceremony and music of mass. Also, when the abuse scandal in the Catholic Church became public I found myself in heated debates about how these things could happen. Often, I heard myself defending the churches actions. Clearly I was not done with the Catholic Church nor was she with me. I became a “returning Catholic” almost by instinct. Despite my skeptical nature, I rely more on intuition than intellect in matters of faith. Ultimately, whether “liberal” or not, my home still is the Catholic Church.

I question the legitimacy of my being a member of the Church all the time. Heck, I help teach Sunday School and cringe sometimes at what my daughter's being taught. But still, there I was on Ash Wednesday with that mark on my forehead doubts and all.