Religion. It’s something essential to some and unnecessary to others. It’s often considered a controversial or taboo subject, and there are a fair amount of stereotypes and expectations attached. Personally, like many others at Notre Dame, I come from a Catholic family. Parents, whose parents, whose parents, were raised Catholic. I went to CCD and got baptized. I went to church with my family on Sundays and made the decision to be confirmed. I attended a Catholic high school.
Growing up, I had a very hard time understanding the concept of death. When I was ten years old, my great grandmother passed away. At that moment, I couldn’t process my emotions. It was the first time I experienced the death of someone close to me, and I didn’t really get it. I understood that death was a part of the circle of life, but I couldn’t figure out why God decided my great grandma’s time was then—because I still needed her. I was only in 4th grade, but that is when I questioned the existence of God for the first time.
When I was older, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, my Dad opened a gift from his sister on Christmas morning. It was a framed picture of his parents on their wedding day, my beloved Grandma Wow and a grandpa I never got to meet, and I saw my Dad cry for the first time in my life. My grandpa passed away a few months before my own parents got married. He was a complicated man, but a loving man. I’ll always wonder why I never got to meet him. How could God take away someone who still had a lot of life to live—someone who was a friend, a husband and a father to eight kids. How could God never let him meet all eighteen of his grandchildren, his six great-grandchildren and only allow them, in turn, to know him through stories.
I have doubted God’s existence many times. But I don’t find myself talking about it. I wondered where God was when I moved to a new high school and felt suffocated by loneliness; I wondered every time I’ve watched someone I love battle with mental illness—when I got off the bus at my friend’s house in 7th grade and saw on the TV that there had been a school shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. I wondered when I went to a camp that changed my life and met a girl who loved girls, and I realized that I did not want to be a part of anything that made her feel like she was not whole. Most recently, when Australia caught on fire. I was taught that God was all-knowing and all-loving, but how could that same God let such horrible things happen? I realize that many of these events stemmed from human choice, but God is God. Can’t he do anything? Stop anything? Isn’t that the whole point?
But even with all the doubt, I have had so many experiences that reiterate my belief in God. Like when I was crying late one night my freshman year of high school, and a song came on my Spotify randomly: a song that wasn’t on any of my playlists, that I had never even heard before. The opening lyrics were sung softly, “Katie, don’t cry, I know you’re trying your hardest and the hardest part is letting go.”
There have been Sundays when I’ve sat at church and felt goosebumps during the homily, because it felt like God was talking directly to me. I’ll never forget when I first read Luke 23:43—“Today you will be with me in paradise.” Every time I have a hard time forgiving someone, those words run on a loop through my mind.
Once, when I was having a hard day and feeling overwhelmed, a little girl I volunteered with at the homeless shelter told me that I was doing great, completely unprompted.
I feel God when I’m laughing so hard with my friends that it hurts, when I stand on top of mountains and the world looks endless, every time I stare into the infinity that is the night sky. I feel God on those days when everything seems to be going right, and I’m in the best mood ever for seemingly no reason. I feel God every time I go through something difficult or deteriorating and come out on top—every time I lose something, but then gain something even better.
I feel like when most people talk about their relationship with religion, it goes one of two ways: 1. a conversion from no faith to faith or 2. growing up a believer and then becoming a nonbeliever. But in reality, I know a lot of people must feel similar to me. My relationship with religion is a complicated one. It ebbs and flows. It’s constantly going up and down. Sometimes I feel like religion isn’t adding a lot to my life, but other times it’s the complete opposite. There are things I don’t like about the Catholic Church, but even more that I love. And if I’m being honest, it terrifies me to think about living my life without religion, because I’m not sure what that would look like. It scares me to think that there could be no one up there looking out for me and having a plan for me, or to think about what life after death would look like if it’s not Heaven.
I used to think questioning my faith meant I wasn’t a good Catholic. It’s been hard for me to feel so back and forth. I didn’t realize this is a normal feeling that a lot of people relate to. I now understand that it’s okay to question, that it’s okay to be unsure. I just hope that I can continue to grow.
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