Growing Up Catholic

(…And Grateful For It)

Like millions of Americans, I grew up Catholic.

We were not nominal Christmas-and-Easter-only Catholics.  We went to Confession several times a month, and attended Mass every weekend, as well as Holy Days of Obligation (special days where attendance at Mass was mandatory).  As a child I participated in CCD classes (the Catholic equivalent of Sunday School.)  I even had two relatives who were nuns!  So Catholicism was a major part of my upbringing.

Sometimes that resulted in some strange (and humorous) situations.  For example, when I was very young the Mass was said in Latin, and the priest had his back to the congregation.  When I got bored and restless, my mom would give me her Rosary beads.  I would play with them, pretending that the figure on the crucifix was Tarzan swinging on a vine!

Another funny memory was going to Confession.  You went into a dark booth and confessed your sins to the priest, and he would give you some prayers to say for penance.  Sometimes I couldn’t remember specific things I had done wrong.  I solved this dilemma by making something up and concluding with, “And I also lied, Father!”

Early on my sisters and I learned that no matter what heinous acts we confessed, the priest always gave you the same prayers of penance each week.  It soon became a game for us.  We would each take our turn going into the confessional, and then kneel at the communion rail.  But we’d wait until all three of us were there, and then one of us would whisper, “On your mark, get set, go!”– and we would race to see who could say penance the fastest!  

One last story.  When I was in second grade, the old nun who taught us at CCD was responsible for preparing us to make our First Communion (a celebration in which a child is permitted to take Communion for the first time).  Catholics believe in a doctrine called transubstantiation, the belief that during the Mass the elements of Communion become the actual body and blood of Jesus, though their appearance doesn’t change.  I have to admit that at seven years old, this didn’t make much sense to me.

Anyway, this nun (who appeared in my young eyes to be about 150 years old) explained that when the priest put the host (a small wafer made of unleavened wheat flour and water) on your tongue, you were to leave it there until it dissolved.  Under no circumstances were you to chew it.  “If the host even touches your teeth,” she cautioned in a severe tone, “it would be as if you were biting Jesus!”

Well, the day of my First Communion arrived.  Dressed in a new suit (which I would only wear at Christmas and Easter), I walked up to the priest and dutifully opened my mouth.  Unfortunately, I had buck teeth which protruded quite a bit, and as the priest gave me the host, it hit my two front teeth!  I went back to my pew and knelt to pray, trembling with fear because I thought God was about to strike me dead for biting His Son!  It was quite a traumatic event for a young boy.

Catholic…And Then Saved

(BTW, in this photo I’m the one kneeling on the right.  The young girl raising her hands is my future wife!)

Catholicism continued to be a big part of my life, though I didn’t always fully understand what it was all about.  It certainly didn’t solve the problems I had growing up.  Home was not always a peaceful place; my parents argued a lot.  Dad was a workaholic (and a closet alcoholic) who was often emotionally distant, and we had a somewhat rocky relationship.  I was bullied throughout my school years, and even at a young age struggled with depression.

When I was 13 years old, my grandparents bought a cottage that was to be their retirement home.  It was located in an old Methodist campground that had been established in 1860.  There were little cottages set close together and narrow roads that had once been carriage tracks, and the surrounding woods had paths running through them.  It was a very peaceful setting, and I fell in love with the place.  My grandparents went up every weekend to work on their cottage, and I would go with them to help (and also to escape the turmoil at home).  I ended up living with my grandparents on weekends and school vacations throughout my middle school and high school years.  My parents agreed to this arrangement on one condition:  my grandfather had to take me to Mass every weekend.  He fulfilled this obligation for years, though he wasn’t a Catholic.

When I was 18, I moved in permanently with my grandparents and started attending college.  Three weeks later, I got saved at a Christian coffeehouse during the Jesus People movement (you can read that story here.)  I continued going to Mass every week for about a year after I became a born-again Christian (or as some people called me back then, a Jesus freak).

But I began to experience a growing anger with the Catholic church.  I felt they had given me a false gospel (“salvation through being Catholic”) rather than the true gospel, salvation through faith in Jesus Christ.  Eventually I stopped going to Mass.

That anger stayed with me for many years, well over a decade.  But as I grew and matured in my faith, the anger began to diminish.  Someone made the comment, “We have a lot more in common with Catholics than we do with the world,” and that struck a chord in me.  I also began to see that there were different kinds of Catholics.  Many practiced what I would call rote religion, while others professed true love for Christ and sought to live their lives for Him, as I was.

Eventually I saw that I had received some great benefits from growing up Catholic.  Here are three of them.

Belief in the Existence of God

One benefit of growing up Catholic is that I have always believed in the existence of God.  To me it was a no-brainer.  Even before I was saved, I can remember having a deep love for God.  I wasn’t exactly sure where I stood with Him; I tended to think of Him as an angry old man on a throne in Heaven, someone I had to appease.  I wasn’t sure He loved me, but I knew He was there.  I couldn’t explain why I knew, but I did.  I can honestly say I can’t remember a moment in my life when I didn’t believe there was a God.

I remember one day when I was very young, I came home from Mass feeling very warm and joyful inside.  I wanted God to know that I believed in Him and that I loved Him.  So I went upstairs to my bedroom and closed the door.  Taking a pair of scissors, I knelt and carved a tiny heart in my windowsill (my mother would have killed me if she knew!)  I thought that at night, when God looked in my window, He would see that tiny heart and know that I loved him.  It was a childish act of sincerity and faith.  

Now that I am secure in my identity in Christ, I know that God loves me unconditionally and that I am His child forever.  I am so grateful for what the hymn writer called “blessed assurance.”  Jesus is mine, and I am His.  What a wonderful peace that brings!  But it all began with what I was taught in my youth as a Catholic, and for that I am grateful.

Belief in the Word of God

A second benefit to growing up Catholic is that I have never doubted that the Bible is the Word of God.  I’ve always had a great reverence for it.   

This actually began with something I was taught early in CCD that was wrong!  I remember a nun telling the class about the Bible being God’s inspired Word, that it was a book like no other.  Then she told us that this book was so special that “ordinary people” could not read it.  You needed “special training” in order to understand it, and that’s why only priests and nuns could read it!

All of that changed with Vatican II.  In 1965 there was a special council of the Catholic church that sought to bring the church “up to date” with the world.  Vatican II brought a huge series of drastic changes.  The Mass was now said in English, with the priest facing the congregation.  There was more participation by lay people.  Strict dress codes were relaxed, especially for women (and nuns!)

Another change– a wonderful one– was increased access to the Bible.  Now I was hearing our priest telling the congregation that it was a great thing to read the Bible.  He even began selling Bibles in the narthex after Mass!

I didn’t begin reading the Bible for myself until after I was saved.  But I came to it already believing that the scriptures were sacred, that they were indeed the actual Word of God.  I never questioned the authority of scripture.  I knew and believed that it was Truth.  It’s another thing I owe to growing up Catholic.

Belief in the Importance of Going to Church 

(Here we are again, my future wife and I at church, late 1970s!)

The third benefit I received from growing up Catholic was the importance of going to church.  When I was Catholic, that meant going to Mass every week.  My mom was a born-and-bred Catholic (the house she grew up in was directly across the street from St. Mary’s Church).  My dad had to convert to Catholicism when he married my mom.  In those pre-Vatican II days, that was the only way they could have a Catholic wedding.  He also had to sign an oath that he would raise their children as Catholics.

Dad’s beliefs were not as strong as my mother’s.  When he was growing up, his father was an alcoholic and had difficulty holding down a job.  They moved frequently (to avoid the bill collectors).  The gas in the car was therefore reserved for essential trips only, so the family would walk to whatever church was closest.  Technically they were Methodists, but they went to so many churches of different denominations that for much of his life, Dad’s attitude was basically “All roads lead to Heaven.”  As long as you went to a church, it didn’t much matter which one to him.

Having said all that, I also have to say that Dad took the oath he signed very seriously.  He had given his word, and he intended to keep it.  He insisted that we go to CCD classes– and going to Mass every week was non-negotiable.  I learned that in my teenage years, when my growing rebellion caused me to want to skip Mass.  Dad’s answer to that was a definitive No.  “Jesus gave His life on the cross for you,” he thundered, “so the least you can do is give Him an hour of your time each week!”

Well, Dad had a point there, didn’t he?

Now that I’m a Christian, I still believe in the importance of being in church.  I’m not talking about watching a sermon on TV, either.  I’m talking about being physically present in church.  Romans 10:17 says “So faith comes through hearing, and hearing through the Word of God.”  Church is where you hear the Word being preached, and you need that to have your faith built up.  But being involved in church is also where you learn to serve others.  You discover that you are part of something bigger, the body of Christ.  You learn that every part of that body is important, and everyone has something to contribute to the growth of God’s kingdom.  That’s why we’re told in Ephesians 2:10, “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”  (For more on that topic, read what I’ve posted here.)

Again, my belief that church involvement is directly connected with spiritual growth is rooted in being brought up Catholic, and it’s one more thing I’m grateful for.

How about you?  Where do you stand on the existence of God, the authority of the Bible, and the importance of church participation?  Are your beliefs rooted in how you were raised?  Perhaps this article has given you something to think about…and something to be grateful for.

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