My grandmother was a devout Catholic. She thought it was important to instill those traditions in me at a young age, so whenever I spent time with her, we did all the Catholic things I didn’t do at home, such as going to Mass on Sundays and saying grace before meals. My father, who I lived with, didn’t believe in anything spiritual but never explained to me why.
When I turned 12, I began to slowly question all organized religions, and over the following years, drifted away from the Church more. So when my own son turned the same age and showed a newfound interest in Catholicism, I was surprised.
I had always held onto the comforting traditions that my grandmother introduced me to. I loved going to Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning Mass with her, and saying nightly prayers on my own was something I never let go of. These were great comforts to me, and so when I had my son, I passed these traditions on to him.
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But my son also grew up knowing that I favor personal spirituality over any church’s strict guidelines. Over time, I grew to believe that someone’s spirituality should be a more personal experience.
Seemingly out of the blue, my son asked if we could start going to Mass more often. At first, I felt stressed over having to fit yet another thing into our weekly schedule, especially one I didn’t think was completely necessary. But then, I realized I needed to support this. I have always thought it was important to let him explore his interests, whether it was dinosaurs, cars, or snakes, so this was no different.
Around this same time, he became committed to a nightly prayer routine — we had previously skipped it on hectic nights. I think prayer is an excellent way to reflect on the day in gratitude, and I’m happy he’s developing this healthy habit.
As we decorated our Christmas tree this year, he asked me if I believed in Jesus. I gave him a simplified answer — I thought Jesus was a man, and not exactly who I imagined praying to. In response, my son told me flatly that I would go to hell. When I laughed heartily, the shock on his face showed me that to him, it was not a joke. He was really worried about me, and that was the part that bothered me. I didn’t want him to be worried about me at all, especially when I didn’t agree with this specific concern.
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I want my son to maintain his right to choose whatever religion he gravitates toward. But following his conviction that people who don’t share his beliefs will “go to hell,” I thought it was time to have a conversation about why that might lead to intolerance of others.
Talks like these give us both the opportunity to examine where he’s getting his information from and whether or not it’s a valid source. In this instance, he had developed this belief through YouTube content. I encouraged him to talk with his godparents, or other trusted family members instead. Of course, confronting his curiosity forces me to think about how I feel on the matter too.
On the way to Christmas dinner, he really started questioning my spiritual beliefs. It reminded me of myself at his age. For every point he thought he was proving, I would calmly respond with both facts and opinions, until he finally said, “You’re ruining this for me!” I had to laugh, reiterating the importance of him allowing me to have my spiritual beliefs and me doing the same for him.
I do believe in something like God, but what I feel spiritually feels so personal to me that it couldn’t possibly be explained through the outline of any organized belief system. I’ve explained this to my son in a multitude of different ways, a multitude of times, and I remain patient each time he asks.
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Whether or not he continues to gravitate toward more Catholicism than I can share with him, I think the most important thing is that we just keep this conversation going. I do want him to feel that he can believe whatever he’d like, but more than that, I want him to remain mindful and make sure he isn’t judging or impeding on anyone else’s belief system in the process. At the end of the day, I just want my son to be kind and respectful of others.
Recently, I told my husband that when we move to our forever hometown, I’d like to find a “nice church” — a community of nice people that just help each other and have things like spaghetti dinners to raise money for good causes. Which denomination this imaginary church belongs to is almost irrelevant to me. I was pleasantly surprised that he agreed, but I don’t think I would have found this out about myself and my husband if not for my son’s own deepening relationship with the Catholic Church. Having to really think about why I fell away from the Church and examine my own spirituality showed me that I do desire a spiritual community.
While my son has pushed me toward questioning why I had distanced myself from the Church community, I know I’m influencing him to not only check his sources but to continually think about what he believes. Our spiritual beliefs don’t completely align, but we love and respect each other enough to talk about it, and ultimately, that’s the kind of person I want him to try and always be.
Reflection Questions:
- The author shares that her son became more interested in the Catholic faith at the same age she began to feel distant from it. How did your childhood inform your faith? What circumstances shaped your faith while growing up?
- Who or where do you turn to when you have questions about religion?
- The author says, “Our spiritual beliefs don’t completely align, but we love and respect each other enough to talk about it, and ultimately, that’s the kind of person I want him to try and always be.” How can you show respect for those with different beliefs, and how can you encourage fruitful conversations?