Faith. Family. Fun.
BY KATE FRANCIS
SPECIAL TO THE CATHOLIC HERALD
At some point, it’s going to happen. There’s no getting out of it.
It doesn’t matter how many family Rosaries you pray. It doesn’t matter how many years of Catholic school you pay for. There will come a day when your child tells you that sometimes — just sometimes — he wonders.
“Wonder what?” you ask.
“If all the Jesus stuff is true,” he says. “I mean, I know it is. It just seems …” And here he will pause, because maybe he’s afraid to even say the word. “So unbelievable.”
I don’t know what you will do when this happens, reader, but I can tell you that if you’re like me, you will panic. In your mind will flash the gloomy statistics showing how many adults raised Catholic end up leaving the faith (too gloomy, in fact, for me to repeat here — you can just Google it on your own, if you feel like ruining your day). You will have harrowing visions of grandchildren who don’t receive their First Communion, of daughters-in-law who think garden Buddhas are cute lawn ornaments and who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious.”
You may have the urge to splash holy water in your child’s face, throw a bag over his head, bundle him into the back of the car, drive him to the closest monastery, lock him in a cell, sprinkle blessed salt over the threshold, toss him a copy of “Introduction to the Devout Life” and tell him to call you when he comes to his senses.
(Do not do this, reader. This is what the therapists call “religious trauma,” and it will not help. It will only make your child think Catholics are weird, which we are, but in a fun way, not in a traumatizing way).
You may want to make this all about you. You may take this as a cruel performance review. You may crawl under the covers with a cold cloth on your forehead and cry yourself to sleep, dreaming of the baby and toddler and little kid who asked you about Jesus, listened to everything you said and accepted it as truth. You may even mutter, “I tried so hard, but I guess I just wasn’t good enough.”
(Do not do this, reader. This is what the therapists call “emotional blackmail,” and it will not help. It will only make your child think Catholics are unhinged, which many of us are, a little bit, but really, isn’t everyone?)
No, you must remember that this is actually, to quote Martha Stewart, A Good Thing. And unlike Martha Stewart’s good things, this good thing is an investment which will pay dividends.
(A confession, reader: I don’t know if I used any of that financial terminology correctly. I’m a tired mother, not a stockbroker. But I’m sure you’ll understand the point.)
If you want to raise a child who can carry the weight of an adult faith, you have to let the child exercise his muscles of critical thinking. You have to let him lift the weights of “What if?” and “But why?” You have to let him do the reps of “It doesn’t make sense” and “So many people disagree.”
(Another confession, reader: I also don’t know if I used any of that workout terminology correctly. I’m a tired mother, not a weightlifter. Again, I’m sure you understand the point.)
And you have to remember that you are lucky. You are so, so unthinkably lucky that when your child had an uncomfortable question, he chose to bring it to you.
So accept the question. Don’t be afraid of it, even — especially! — if he is. Hold it in your hands and look at it with him. Because you know how it feels, don’t you? You have thought the same thing. Maybe, sometimes, you still do.
The Jesus stuff does seem a little unbelievable.
It seems unbelievable in the way the rotation of the Earth seems unbelievable. You’re telling me the Earth is spinning at a thousand miles per hour? All the time? Like a top? On an imaginary pole? Get out of here. That’s ridiculous. I’ve never seen this pole. I’m not nauseous, and everyone knows how motion-sick I get in the car — oh, huh, look at that. It was nighttime and now it’s daytime. I wonder what made that … oh. Oh. OK, yeah, that does kind of make sense now. I guess I have seen lots of evidence of that rotation thing. I just didn’t know what it was. Not until someone helped me understand.
If your kid doubts the rotation of the Earth, you’re not going to freak out and tell him to be quiet and listen to the scientists. You’re going to grab a globe and a flashlight, or maybe a Foucault pendulum if you’re one of those fancy families. You’re going to help him understand. You can’t make him believe it, but you can show him why you do.
I can’t promise you that your grandchildren will make their First Communions. I can’t promise you that your daughter-in-law won’t have a garden Buddha. But I can promise you this: If they know you’re a person who is willing to help them understand, if they ever have a question, you’re the one they will ask.
(Reader, I fear I may have offended any of you with daughters-in-law who have garden Buddhas. I’m sorry, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. But you understand my point.)
Kate Frances is an Archdiocese of Milwaukee writer who finds joy in raising three young children in the Catholic faith.
