Origins, 1

I grew up Catholic,

in a Catholic family,

in a family that was Catholic

for many generations previous,

back to Canada,
back to France,

and someone in history

could trace it back further,

I don't know,

but suffice to say,

I was born into the faith.

My family was the kind

to attend not just weekly mass,

the obligatory weekend mass,

but daily mass,

and we were heavily involved

in all aspects of church life,

whether stuffing new missals & hymnals

into the plastic covers,

the several roles of readers,

altar servers...

We made friends with all the parish priests,
and that's all there ever was to know,

even that one that left the priesthood,

who played a game of Risk 

at our home,

and I guess a different kind

with his calling.

I don't mean "friends" 

in the sense we were friendly with them,

but that they were family friends,

one of whom became very involved
with the family,

who went out of his way

to help financially

when times were tough

(although there was talk

he had done this sort of thing before).

We practically made a second home

at church.

That's what I mean

by growing up

in the church.

Almost literally.

My two brothers

eventually left,

joining other denominations;

my sisters and I stayed.

I never considered leaving;

it just never made sense,

the way I understood my faith,

which is also not to say I did so

unquestioningly,

uncritically,

just not in the ways

so many other have

for two thousand years.

There's just so much

to unpack

with all that history,

it seems premature

to think I might have thought

of some reason to question it

that hasn't already

come up.

And so anytime I'm in a church,

it's like I'm at home.

It's kind of 

as simple

as that.