Choosing My Religion…

I was raised Irish Catholic. Every Saturday, my mom would take me and my sister to church and we would groan through the hour-long mass. Once a week, we had to go to CCD classes. I never knew what “CCD” stood for (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine), only that I had to go because my mother said so. In second-grade, I made my first communion. After dressing up like a miniature bride, complete with a white dress and veil, I ate the Body of Christ for the first time. Two things I never understood about that particular ritual were why it tasted like cardboard, and why no one seemed to think it was weird that we were eating a part of some guy’s body. From my understanding, cannibalism was not condoned by the Catholic Church, yet every week we had to do just that. At least I didn’t have to drink the blood of Christ like the priests and altar boys. It was bad enough to be chewing someone’s body, but I wasn’t about to be a vampire too.

As I grew older, I started questioning my faith. The pieces didn’t quite fit together, and what I was learning in biology class didn’t jive with the stories of creation being taught in my CCD class. As a budding feminist, the ban on female priests didn’t sit well with me either. Though eventually I was confirmed into the Catholic Church, I did it out of a sense of duty to my mother rather than a deep-seated religious belief. Once I completed that sacrament, I stopped going to church for a very long time. I became a lapsed Catholic who only went to church for major events – weddings, funerals, Christmas, and Easter.

In college, I took an Eastern Religions class. Though I found aspects of Hinduism, Taoism, and Buddhism thought-provoking, I wasn’t particularly drawn to any of the religions we studied. Despite not finding a personal connection, I found the general topic of religion to be fascinating. After college, I coached at Brandeis University, and while there learned a lot about Judaism. At some point, I read “Walking the Bible” by Bruce Feiler, and loved it so much that books about the history of religion started filling my shelves. I think my interest in the history of religion stemmed from my love of all things historical.

Despite my interest in the historical aspects of religion, I never returned to the practice of Catholicism. However, since Addison was born, I am finding myself seeking the grounding and community that organized religion can provide. Kendra has really been the impetus for the search, as she went to a Presbyterian church as a child, and loved her experiences enough to want to find a church for us to attend. So, with Addison and our own needs in mind, we began searching for a spiritual home. I knew that I was not interested in returning to the Catholic Church – not just because I found the sex-abuse scandals so revolting, but also because they are not fans of the gays. Kendra was interested in finding a Presbyterian church, but was open to other options. She took the lead, and found us two places that were both open and affirming and close by to our home. One was a U.C.C. (United Church of Christ) church, and the other a Unitarian Universalist church.

At first, I found myself attracted to the U.C.C. service because it was familiar. The rituals were similar to those of the Catholic Church, yet I felt welcome and comfortable. However, after attending the U.U. service, I realized that I wasn’t looking for familiar, I was looking for change. What really did it for me was the minister’s sermon. It just so happened that on that particular day she spoke about Theodore Parker, an American Unitarian Minister and scholar from the 19th century. Parker was an abolitionist in a time when slavery was the norm. The minister quoted Parker,

“I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight, I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice.”

I had always heard those words attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr., and did not realize they were first uttered by Parker. After the service, I did what I always do when my interest is piqued – I Googled Parker and began reading. I spent time learning about Unitarianism, and realized that I had found my place.

However, though I felt at home, Kendra wasn’t so sure. Her instincts were drawing her back to the U.C.C. congregation. In a compromise, we returned to both churches several times. The more we went, the stronger I felt about the Unitarian Church. Unbeknownst to me, Kendra was feeling the same way. A few weeks ago, we attended services at the U.C.C. church, and when we left the building, Kendra turned to me and informed me that she was done – we would be going to the Unitarian Church. I was elated.

Today we attended services as a family. I took time during the personal meditation to close my eyes, breathe, and reflect on our decision. Sitting in the unadorned sanctuary, sunlight streaming through the beautiful glass windows, I felt transported back in time to the days when religious freedom was so precious, and was thankful for my freedom to choose a religion in which I feel welcomed and connected.