Not Our First Time

There are some things that must be spoken before anything else can come forward. This is one of them.

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Dear Reader,

What you’re about to read is personal. It’s a journey I walked slowly, with many questions and few clear answers. But even in the quiet, the Light found me. This is Part One of that story.

The Questions

While growing up, I attended a convent school, and every Sunday, my mother insisted we go to church. The older I got, the more I realized that what I was being taught didn’t always make sense to me. Still, I went along, unsure if any of it was helping.

We assume that if something is written, it must be true. Questioning spiritual authority—especially its many interpretations—is often discouraged. We’re told to follow in faith.

In 9th grade, I often visited our local priest, a kind man and close friend of my parents. I came with sincere questions:

• What about purgatory, hell, and heaven?

• Why does God sound angry or judgmental?

• Why do religions divide people?

• Why is God portrayed as distant—“out there” somewhere?

• Why must we do penance to be forgiven?

• How can one man forgive another’s sins?

• What happens if I don’t go to church?

• What happens when we die?

One day, I sat with him again, my questions still unresolved. He looked at me with humility and said:

“Patti, you come to me with such deep questions. I want to be honest—I am just a man. I really don’t know. I don’t have the answers.”

Troubled, I left. I knew I would not be returning to the Catholic Church.

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What Was Missing

I’m not saying that faith traditions aren’t good. Anything that reminds us of God is positive. Without God, we become lost.

But something felt absent in the way I was being taught. We were not empowered to know that God resided within us—given to us as our birthright. Instead, we were led to believe we needed a man-made institution to receive love or redemption—that God’s love had to be earned.

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A Conversation That Marked Me

I will preface this to say: today, my beloved mother, whom I deeply respect and love, might not even remember this moment. Her views have since changed.

One evening at home, I shared the conversation I had with the priest. I told her I would no longer attend church. She called me a hypocrite. I asked her:

“Would God love you more than God loves me, just because I don’t go to church?”

She said yes.

I walked away, realizing that she truly believed that at the time—that God’s love had conditions, and that love had to be earned.

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I know this may stir something in you, as it did in me. These questions are sacred.

In my next post, I’ll share what happened when the light came, and the understanding I’ve carried with me ever since.

Until then, thank you for sitting with me in this part of the story.

With love,

Patt