Blind faith (part 2)

It wasn't until I was in high school that I began skipping church. Going to church every Sunday was something that was not only expected in my house, but enforced. Sick or not, you were going. You could have a fever and be vomiting, and you were still going. Not honoring the Lord's day was the pathway to Hell and a mortal sin to boot.

And every chance I got, I'd head toward church in case one of them was looking out the window, which they often did, and then just walk around the neighborhood, or go to the store or find another way to occupy that hour.

I always envied those people who found comfort in being in church, and in group worship. From as early as I can remember, I always felt like an observer when I was sitting the pew...an outsider who didn't belong there...a sinner who didn't deserve to be in God's house. A hypocrite.

When I met my future husband, my parents were mortified that he was protestant. In fact, when we became engaged, my mother told me she was actually afraid to call my grandfather in Ireland and tell him I was marrying someone who wasn't Catholic. That he would never understand such a thing. You would've thought I'd committed a felony.

I know that being Catholic is not an easy thing, but I was never given a choice. There was no choice. If you were born into Catholicism, that was it. End of story. You follow the rules, you do what you're told, there was no questioning anything. There was no tolerance for other religions, because Catholicism was the only true religion.

And being the person I am, I began to question everything, which did not go over well in my home. It wasn't until I was in my late 30s that I finally told my parents that I didn't go to church anymore. For years, I lied about it, because I knew well how they would react. And when I sat my mother down finally and broke the news to her, she responded exactly how I anticipated she would.

How can this be true? Didn't I fear for my soul? Didn't I care that it was a mortal sin? And what about my children? Didn't I care about their souls? The guilt was laid on as thick as ever. And I was so tired of feeling guilty over how I chose to live my life.

To be continued.