I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m a Christian and, more specifically, a Catholic here on the blog. While I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a “faith blogger”, certainly, it’s an important part of who I am.
What some of you know, but some probably do not, is that my husband is NOT Catholic.
Raised by a Catholic mother and a Methodist father, he somehow ended up going to a Baptist church as a young child. (I’m sure there’s a very long story in there but, frankly, it’s not mine to tell.) Anyway, I don’t know all the nitty gritty details, but there was a change in pastors and his parents no longer felt the church was a good fit. They never did find a church to replace that one and their Sunday tradition morphed from going to service to going bowling.
(As a side-note, I would like to recognize that, while it saddens me a bit that they lost their church connection, I appreciate that his family kept up a family tradition. They still spent that time together, and that’s more than some families can say. Anyway, I digress…)
So, he was bowling.
Meanwhile, several states away, I was attending the early Mass with my family every.single.week. If we were on vacation? We found the Catholic church. Holy day of obligation? I was at church. This was just my life, and I really didn’t know any differently.
At college, I continued to attend Mass. I don’t think Sunday would have felt normal without it, to me.
I met this black-haired young man who treated me like a princess and made me weak in the knees. He didn’t go to church, and I knew this. One Saturday evening, as I headed off to the vigil Mass on campus with my roommate, he sort of muttered, “Um, did you want me to, you know, go with you?”
I just laughed. “No! You don’t have to go to church. It’s important to me and it’s my faith, but that doesn’t mean you have to be there if it’s not part of who you are.” (Wasn’t I such a progressive little thing? )
Fast forward a few years. We were getting married.
Despite the fact that he wasn’t, and had never been, Catholic, he married me in my church. He went through pre-Cana classes with me and met with the priest. He knelt beside me and made his vows before the monsignor.
Our babies have all been baptized Catholic, even the one who never breathed here on earth.
Perhaps more than all that, he attends Mass. Our family is one of the largest at that early, early Sunday Mass, and we go together. While he is not Catholic and really has no obligation to be there, this man of mine rises early and helps me raise our children in the faith.
There are people who frown on marrying outside one’s faith. People who would suggest that a strong belief system cannot be instilled if both parents aren’t of the same denomination.
I? Beg to differ.
By stepping up to the plate and modeling both the behaviors of the faith and the sacrifice of matrimony, my husband is one of the greatest faith teachers my children will likely ever know…
Even if he never becomes a Catholic.