Faith
By: Jeanne Hanigan
On any given Sunday, you can find me in the back of our church. And on these Sundays, I am always late. Maybe it was because of a late Saturday night out, but usually it is because I am waiting for my older son to brush his teeth and change his shirt. Joshua sulks a bit and I cajole, but we slip into the back pew on the left (and late) side in time for the second reading. My father accommodates our arrival with a shift in his seat and a warm smile.
It is on these Sundays that I am reminded of the gift bestowed upon me by my parents. Every weekend during my early formative years, my siblings and I would act just like my first-born, reluctant to leave our scintillating childhood activities in order to attend Mass. But once we were there, the wafts of the liturgical choir overwhelmed us and lulled us into peace.
It is this heirloom that I wish to pass along to my sons. While I have dabbled in other beliefs (enlightened by the philosophy of Buddhism and inspired by the legacy of Judaism), I now fully embrace my childhood faith. I am comforted by the rituals of my religion, and I am in awe of the greater community that shares in the words that I now recite. "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again... ."
At the sign of peace, the three generations hold hands and give praise. "Primo," our first-born, clutches my hand even after the rest of the congregation has dropped their grip. I am touched by his kindness, his open and easy affection. I gaze down at him with unconditional love. He smiles back, and surreptitiously peers at my watch. I am left wondering as we head to Communion whether his mother's touch or the unending time caused him to hold my hand that much longer.
My father is the consistent Catholic, while my mother is the mystical one. When she was significantly ill a few years ago, she requested and received a dispensation from the obligatory weekly Mass. Now that she is fully recovered, probably because of her multiple novenas to the Virgin Mary, she still hasn't returned to Church. I don't doubt her faith; I just need to reach her level of sainthood before I stop my weekly attendance.
So, on any given Sunday, you will find me in the back of our church. When my husband and younger son Jacob are ready to awake on those early mornings, they will join me and my devoted son and father. But, until then, I will continue to express my gratitude to my parents and their gift of faith by offering thanks to God in the home of the one responsible. Flanked by two of the most important people in my life, I am truly blessed.