Keeping the Faith

Beverly Beckham had a wonderful article in the Boston Globe this past Sunday, Easter, on how it used to be so much easier to keep her faith when Fr. Coen was alive. Before his stroke, and before the sexual abuse scandal that has disrupted faiths all over the world. Her words touched a cord.

Like Beverly, when I was a little girl, having faith was easy with Fr. Griffin as Pastor. When he wasn't saying the Mass, he was still on the altar, sitting on the sidelines. Afterwards there were always warm words and a hug. Somedays we'd see him out taking a walk and greeting everyone he met. A pillar in the community that never fell.

When I was in high school and college, church wasn't important. And it wasn't until I was a post doctoral associate (working hard for very little pay) that I returned to the pew and found once again, a priest who spoke to me. Someone who addressed my issues and concerns; let me know that God loves me regardless. I was spiritually home once again. But with all postdoctoral work, I moved on, leaving Saint Catherine's behind.

Afterwards, life brought me through a series of parishes, that were only placemarkers. Stopping points along a journey. While I waited to find a place to worship.

And now that we've found a home, once again there are changes in the air. Changes I can't mention here. But pending changes that leave me saddened and wondering about my family's spiritual future. I'm trying not to second guess God. But I've found man has a tendency to blur God's wishes.

Basically, after being moved by the Archdiocese, my children and I are happy. We have a warm, caring parish family. We have our usual pew -- third from the front on the right. We have a Pastor that opens my eyes and the eyes of my children to God's love. And if you asked me about the keeper of my faith I say it was once again rooted with our Pastor, but selfishly I would've taken some of that responsibility on myself too. It's about time. And I would've been partially wrong. Not about the Pastor, for his words and actions speak volumes about God's love, but I left out a big part of my faith. It's my children.

Over the past three years I taken pictures at different parish events, sometimes just snapping up parish life in general. Lately, I've been working on a project that required me to go through all these pictures -- hundreds of them. Many of them include my children. As youngsters talking with the Pastor, Pentecost, playing with Emma, Easter, the parish photo, First Holy Communions, kisses to Sam, the parish fair, our tadpoles at the pet blessing. Over this past week, through these images, I've watched my children grow in their faith. All the while, cultivating my faith right along side theirs.

On Saturday evening, after dinner, I asked the girls, "What meal did Jesus last celebrate?"

Without blinking, my middle one said, "Passover. The disciples went into Jerusalem and found a donkey, then Jesus rode the donkey into the city. And they ate the last supper." She told me the whole Passion story from the donkey, to the crucifix, to the borrowed tomb, to Easter Sunday.

Shocked, she knew, I asked, "When did you learn this?"

"At church, see, I pay attention."

I did see. So once again with life will come change. But with God's gift of faith through the eyes of my children, I will hold onto hope, while seeking God's unblurred message.