Faith Matters

Before Ismael and I were married, we agreed that when and if we had children that they would be Catholic. It was an easy agreement to make then. Ismael wanted to marry me and likely would have agreed to anything to get me. Ahhh….the thrill of pursuit.

I am a great admirer of Islam, but I was born and raised Catholic. I have my own personal spiritual challenges, but overall, am happy with being Catholic and feel the duty to pass it on to my own children. I knew that in the compromises I would have to make in marrying a Muslim, such as giving up cooking my beloved garlic stuffed pork roast, this was not one I could make.

After Adam’s birth, I broached the subject with Ismael gently and in time he agreed to allow Adam’s baptism. I, however, had a different problem. I had to do something about choosing a church. We were registered and married in the church where I teach. After thirteen years of teaching and the formation of my own family, I have felt the need to become a little more private and separate family life from work life. After several months of interior debate, I decided to return to the parish where my mother currently attends and I was raised.

We met with Fr. Kevin to register in the parish and I knew I had made the right decision when the most complicated thing about baptizing the infant son of a Catholic Muslim couple was choosing a date. No baptismal classes, no requirements of Ismael beyond his consent. Perfect!

All of this introspection has forced me to examine my own spirituality. I know that it is far past time for me to bear down and go back to confession. it’s been years since my last one. For Catholics, confession to the priest is a sacrament. For me, it is the equivalent of waterboarding. I always feel better when it is over, but the preparation and process is flat out torture for me.

It’s not even that I think my sins and failings are the worst the priest will ever hear. I don’t imagine him loudly saying “What??” as I recite my little list and exit the confessional to the shocked stares of others. It’s just difficult to make yourself accountable to God in the presence of another human being. No one will make me go, but my inner voice is asking, “how will you teach your son to be accountable for his actions if you, yourself, are not?”

Damn Catholic guilt.