My Faith Journey

"I believe in a good and just God. That is the basic truth from which to start".

        To truly love God is to want to share a little of that love with others, in the hope that it will honor Him.  As a Christian, I would like to to share my personal statement of faith with my readers.  It is my attempt to pull together a lifetime of  bits and pieces of thoughts and memories as I have never done before. If my story touches your heart,  and encourages you to think about and inspire your own  faith journey, then praise God! I only  ask that any reader respect my sharing and take from  it only what I intend; to testify that I,  personally, love God -- and that I, -- personally, love and accept the gift of faith and new life in Jesus Christ and wish to tell my story and if it be His will, bring you closer to God through Him and touch your heart with His love. -Joanne

                                                                    My Faith Journey

           "Now faith is the substance of things hoped  for, the evidence of things not seen."                                                                                                         Hebrews 11:1

I have tried on many occasions during the course of my 60+year life, to think back to the time when I first became a Christian. I have to say that I believe it did not have an earthly beginning. I have no explanation for this. I know for certain I did not have a "born again" experience, a thunder bolt revelation, or ever heard voices speaking to me out of the clouds. I would have remembered that! The voice I heard was subtle, nudging, a whisper of "I am here. I am with you wherever you go."When I read in God's word Jeremiah 1:5 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart", I believe it to be true for all of God's children, as I cannot remember back to a time in my life when God was not a part of it. I have always had faith, always felt His presence in my life and have never been without the certainty of His existence. Ever.

I could attribute this to the religious teachings of my parents who faithfully carried out their generation's duty to raise their children according to their faith-filled Catholic heritage. Some people say we come into this world as a blank slate and that we are taught everything we know, believe and become. If that is true, then certainly the example of my family's complete devotion to Catholicism which was so evident throughout my childhood, has influenced my thinking and beliefs. As I've matured in my faith I  have come to believe I am among God's chosen. His elect.

 From my very first breath, I was surrounded by a devoted family of believers through whose lives I witnessed unshakable faith. A family of elders who exemplified to me the joy, grace, strength and assurance faith in God had brought to their lives. My parents faith taught me many things, but I do not believe, however, that they taught me to have faith. Religion? Yes. Tradition? Yes. But faith? No. Faith cannot be taught. It is a gift from God, not an achievement. It is not something to be learned or earned, but given freely by God to those whose hearts are open, chosen and obedient to it. I have always had secure belief in God and a trusting acceptance of His will. Without my Catholic upbringing would I have known or accepted this gift? Would I have recognized it, accepted it, or nurtured it into adulthood had it not been for my family and childhood? I  believe so, but only God knows for sure.

This leads me to wonder why I was chosen by God to receive this gift.  Believe me, I am no one special, except perhaps in God's eyes. It would take up this entire blog and fry my brain in the process to try to analyze predestination, free will or the doctrine of God's grace and I make no attempt to. What I do know is this; I walk a humble, human path of unrighteousness. I stray, fall and sin like everybody else. But I know and believe, without a doubt, that somehow through God's grace, I was called to believe I walk in the righteousness of Jesus Christ accredited to me, as I can honestly say I cannot recall a time walking my life's journey when I've ever felt unloved or unforgiven by Him.

Here is the story of that journey....

I was born into a conservative, middle-class, old-fashioned, faithful family. My Grandparents on both my mother's Sicilian side and my father's German side were "old country" devout Catholics and thus so were my parents. My family loved God. Their faith engulfed every aspect of their lives. Every household of Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles bore witness to Catholicism, including my own. Crucifixes with last year's palm and rosaries hung in every room. Prayers were said before and after every meal. Plastic holy water fonts were outside every bedroom. Makeshift alters of statues of saints, the blessed mother and candles adorned many of the bedrooms. St. Christopher statues rode in every vehicle. My father said his rosary every day of his life for his parents' souls in purgatory. He belonged to the Holy Name Society and never took off his scapular. He died with it around his neck. My Aunt Trudy, his sister, attended Mass every day. Although she had polio in one foot and never drove a car, she walked the 10-15 blocks to church everyday all year long. I would meet up with her on the street as I walked on my way to school and she was already returning from morning mass. I learned to say my prayers every night and to this day, still do. My mother belonged to the Rosary Altar Society and said daily prayers and novena's too. Yes, God was by far the most important thing in their lives. Embedded in my upbringing at every turn. The two words I remember my grandmother saying when I asked her for advice were "Joanne, Trust God." Two words. Those two words have guided me my entire life.

My family attended church regularly from the time I was a baby. Every Sunday we would drive around the corner at 9:30am to pick up my Grandmother and Grandfather and attend the 10:00 Catholic Mass at Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal in Ridgewood, Queens, NY. There was never a time when I didn't love to go to church. I loved everything about it. I loved the formal rituals, the incense, the candles, the white robed alter boys, the incense, the bells, the music, even the Latin. It seemed very solemn, very reverent,very holy.

My favorite time was after Mass when my family would go to the side alter statue of the Blessed Mother and light a candle. I loved the long skinny sticks I could use to light my end, find just the right candle to light, and then snuff the stick out in a bucket of sand. I always found it disbelievingly awesome (but I always believed it) that I could light a candle, say a few words while looking up at heaven in my mind and know that the God of the universe cared enough about me to listen. I never doubted that He heard me. I was sure of it. I believed (and was taught) that by lighting candles during prayer, my prayer was symbolically carried up to heaven where God waited to hear it. What a concept, I thought! I was not quite sure why God who sees and hears everything needed a visual, but I thought it was a good way of getting His attention.

My older brother and I both went to the Catholic Grammar School, Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal School that was affiliated with our church. OLMM for short, or Old Ladies Meat Market as us kids used to call it. Not very nice I know, but we were just kids. When we were in the lower grades, my mother walked the ten blocks with us to school. We had only one car in the family and my father had to take that to work, so my  mother walked us to school. As we got older, we were allowed to take the city bus alone.

  In those days the nuns wore black habits that covered everything except their hands and faces. These outfits always fascinated me by the amount of stuff they could keep under their robes and habits. If you needed a tissue they pulled one out. A ruler to slap your knuckles with was produced on demand. Bobby pins, clickers, & God only knows what else. Speaking of those wooden clickers, I use to wondered if they came special from the Vatican or if they made them in the basement of some secret nun workshop in the convent. Now people use them to train dogs. Go figure, I'm clicker trained.

The nuns had no personalities and never smiled. Some were very sweet, while others (Yes, Sr. Bernice I will never forget you) were extremely mean and where actually allowed to bestow physical harm to a child if she so felt the crime warranted it. I remember a few kids whose knuckles were hit with wooden rulers. Some were made to kneel on the hardwood floor in the corner. Some who were really bad, got held by the hair and had their heads banged against the blackboard. Thinking about it now, it is hard to believe these actions were tolerated, but even parents did not object. They did not sue. They did not call ACLU. They trusted the Sister's to hold their children accountable for any and all disrespectful behavior. It was just the way it was. 

Early school days were hard for me. I never wanted to leave my mother. I had severe separation anxiety. I missed her so much when I was in school. I was quiet and shy and never got into trouble. The only time I remember having to stay after school was in 1st grade when I was told to remember to study the letter "H" . It should have been easy since my last name began with "H". The next day I got called on and the nun (Sr Annette, who actually, I remember, was very nice) asked me what letter it was. I told her I didn't know. And she made me stay after school as punishment! I cried and cried, not because I had to stay after school, but because I knew my mother would be standing outside across the street on the corner waiting and worried about me. But she waited. Even so, I imagined myself growing up and being a nun. I have no idea why. Maybe I wanted to work for God. Maybe I just wanted to be able to wear one of those outfits. Did I secretly want to be a nun? I think every 8 year old girl who attended Catholic School in those days imagined themselves as a nun. But no, I seriously never saw myself as Sister Joanne. Besides, I thought they were all bald and that's why they wore a habit.

It was a late night in 1972. I was 15. I was lying in my bed saying my prayers talking to Jesus like I always did. I'd tell Him how my day was going. I asked him to bless over my family and friends. I told Him how much I loved him. I felt wrapped in such a loving embrace I didn't want to let go. And then I said it. I remember it so clearly. I said, "Jesus, please let me die tonight so I can be with you in heaven tomorrow. "Obviously, I did not die that night. Apparently, God knows better than I do when to answer certain prayers, as I am still here all these years later for whatever reason He only knows. And besides, who am I to tell Almighty God what to do? It wasn't what some would call an "experience". It was just a time I remember of maturing, when I became aware my faith was the one thing I was willing to die for. Today, I like to think the same is true. However, I've added my two children to the list. I would throw myself in front of a train for them if I had to.

 I went through some tough times in my teen years. When I was 16 my life was tragically struck by the accidental death of my close friend and ex-boyfriend, Mike. I carried the guilt that perhaps I may have prevented it from happening if I had not said four words ,"I think I'll walk" for a very long time. Those four words changed my life. Maybe they could have saved his. Maybe if I had taken the ride he offered me that night he would not have driven so recklessly. I believe he would not have been speeding/racing had I been in the car. Maybe he would have lived. Maybe his car still would have crashed into a stone wall and I might have died along with him. I don't know. But one thing I know for sure, with those four words, many lives where changed that night and one was lost forever. It was devastating and unfair. He was only 19 years old, a good friend and I loved him. He should have gone on to live a long and wonderful life. Why did he die and I lived?For me, it was a true test of acknowledging and accepting God's will. It was not easy. I did not understand it, but I trusted it.

  All in all, heartache and broken hearts aside, my childhood in New York City was a good one. I had a wonderful, loving family and was blessed with many good, close friends who always looked out for me. But teenage life in the city was not always easy. There were other needless deaths of friends and schoolmates from drugs and gangs. The streets were crowded, busy and loud. I had nowhere I could go to escape, to be where I truly felt peaceful except for church. I used to sit on my window sill or go up to my rooftop a lot, but it still felt crowded to me. So many people. So much noise. To feel truly peaceful I went to church whenever I could. Not to attend Mass, but just to sit in the quiet. I'd ride my bicycle to St Matthias, (on the yellow 10 speed bike Mike stole for me from A&S department store where he used to work. He was quite the character.) and I would just sit there for hours. Today, I'd classify myself as a "church groupie". I just liked hanging around in them. I found it the perfect place to get away from the noise of the city and be alone with my thoughts. I'd pray, I'd light candles, I'd walk around and really study all the art and sculptures I didn't have time to reflect on Sunday mornings. The building itself fascinated me, like all churches still do. On rainy days, I'd sit in this beautiful church building alone, in some secret corner in the dark, with the smell of candles,wood and stone and the rain thrashing against the roof and it felt so "heavenly" I could almost feel the hand of God tapping me on the shoulder. There was no other place I could go where my heart was so warmed by His comforting peace.

In 1978 I met a boy while on vacation in Connecticut. The following year we married and this city girl moved from New York City to Connecticut.  At first I hated here.  Believe it or not, all the quiet and peace I longed for in New York City drove me crazy! It was so quiet and so dark I couldn't sleep for months! I just couldn't get used to it! As time went by my mother, father, brother, Aunt Trudy and my Uncle Fred moved here  too and I eventually got used to country living. I found a Catholic Church near our new apartment and attended mass regularly. When my children were born, I took them with me to mass every Sunday. My husband, although raised Catholic, and is a believer did not attend with us. I did this alone for many years and our children , like my husband and I, went to Catholic grammar school, received their sacraments, and were instructed in the faith as best we knew how.

 As time went on and my children were nearing their high school days, I found myself attending mass alone more often. My children were teenagers themselves now and busy with school, work and friends. I was now in my 40's. I naturally began to feel melancholy as I looked back on my children's childhood and wondered if I had been to my children all of what my family had been to me. Did I do my part when it came my turn to hand down their family's faith filled traditions? Had I shown them a good example? Most importantly, did I exemplify to them through my faith, it's truths, it's joys, it's trustworthiness? I eventually came to rest in the knowledge that I did what I was called to do on the day of their baptism; to instruct them in the way they should go and I did it the only and best way I knew how. The rest is in God's hands.

As I attended mass alone more and more I began to feel alone in a very different way. I suddenly felt lonely in the one place I've never felt alone before. I began to go through the motions of the mass questioning the what's and the why's of it. "Something is terribly wrong!", I thought. "Why am I feeling like this?" "Is God abandoning me?" "Am I losing my faith?"Why is this mass and this pretty building no longer enough to make me feel God's nearness and peace? What more do I need?

  In time, I found myself questioning certain aspects of Catholicism. I began to question the very basic, fundamental teachings of the church I've always known and it created in me an inner struggle like none other. The work of the Holy Spirit, speaking to me this way week after week, slowly stirred in me a new yearning for knowledge of God. Who is God really? What did He want with me? Why me?

 I took out my catechism. I read about the what and the whys of the mass. And instead of a growing a deeper love for the mass I was slowly beginning to change my theological stand. But why? I knew Catholicism inside out. I was brought up in it's very essence. I asked myself, "If my view is in disagreement with the church, have I sinned?" "And if I am disagreeing with the church, can I still call myself a Catholic?" I was not doubting my faith, I was questioning it's expression. I was taking ownership. And that was something I had never done before. Was it the work of the Holy Spirit or the work of Satan? I rushed these questions away. I prayed I'd be forgiven. "I am Catholic! I've always been Catholic! Every past generation of my family is Catholic! I can't betray them! It's, dare I say it, "tradition?"As time went on, however, I realized I was a lifelong Christian who knew everything about being holy, but very little about the holiness of God. I realized I was a Catholic but I was a "universal" Catholic. Universal being the real meaning of the word catholic. Perhaps, I just wasn't a "Roman" Catholic.

There was just one little problem. I did not know what to do or where to go. I was not taught to read the bible. I'm lucky I knew the old testament from the new.  I went to Catholic grammar school remember? All I learned was my catechism. Of course, I knew all the gospel stories that I had heard at mass all my life, but I never learned how to read and really study it. I knew the gospel but did not fully understand "the gospel". I wanted to learn more about what I was so certain of. I wanted to learn more about the salvation I have through my faith in Christ. How His work on the cross has justified me before a Holy God. And what about sanctification? How am I made holy in order that His work on earth may be accomplished through me? Am I set apart for God? There were no answers for me where I was. There were no bible studies in my church that I knew of at the time. I had so many questions and did not know where to turn. I felt lost and tormented.

 That's when God intervened.

 My daughter's high school choir was invited to sing at a local Protestant Congregational Church, so naturally, her father and I went to their service so we could watch and hear her sing. And that was when I got what I like to call a "God smack". Something just hit me. The hand of God? Wouldn't be the first time. Attending the service at this church sparked a renewal in me. They read and study scripture here? They teach God's doctrine? Really? It was like God was saying to me," All your life I've led you to this moment. To a time when you'd be ready to hear what I have to tell you. Come, learn about me. Listen to my story." I so wanted to hear God's voice and was I ready to listen. I was looking to learn more of what I knew all my life to be true. I needed nourishment. I needed to hear the source of truth, the standard for a meaningful life, the revelation of Jesus Christ, the key to true freedom. I needed the Word as food for my soul. Could I find it here?

 I began to study Protestantism and it's Reformation beginnings. I studied how the Roman Catholic church hierarchy refused to place itself under the supreme authority of the Bible, but instead insisted that it could make judgments of itself because it was given a special grace of God to do so. I studied how early reformers challenged the Catholic Church by saying that even the church had to be examined by God’s Word. Only the Bible could be the ultimate judge. Corrupt man is in no position to make pronouncements. Even time-honored tradition must be put to the test of God’s Word. Luther and Calvin became my new heroes. But I didn't take their word for it. I had to reason it out for myself. Who has final authority?

I thought about the stories I knew about the time of the Jews before the New Testament where we find them looking to the Old Testament as the authority for their faith. Yes, tradition was very important. But every time they messed up and didn't listen to God , a prophet would come along and point the people back to the Bible and call for reformation and expect faithful Jews to return. They did not return to man-made traditions or human leadership authority, but to the words of God as uttered by the earlier prophets. The authority in Judaism before the New Testament WAS the Old Testament of the Bible! I thought if the Jews were reformed by returning to the Word of God then that was were God wanted to lead me too.

After attending this new church for several months alone, I convinced my family to attend as regularly as possible. As the one who made decisions regarding matters of faith and worship, I took the decision very seriously as I asked myself several questions about this new denomination and this new church. "Does it adhere to the essential doctrines of Christianity? Is it bible based? "Will we learn scripture here? Will it advocate moral integrity? Then I was left with my final question." Could I really leave "The" Church"? I knew I would have to answer to family and friends who questioned my decision. But I had my reasons. 

I will not use this blog to go into further details or discussion of the specific doctrine of which I disagree which led to the reasons why I knew I had leave the Catholic church. I do this out of respect for those in my life, family and best friends, who are devoted Catholics. It is the "Faith of My Fathers". A legacy of those before me whose devout faith in God I do not question. I could never bring myself to disrespect it, although I find myself in disagreement of it's expression.

  Ultimately, we left the Roman Catholic Church and became official members of this new church. My children were young adults now, in their later years of high school and about to go off to college and lives of their own. Do I wish we had done it sooner for their benefit? Yes. But I do not believe in accidents or coincidence so I know it's timing was meant to be. God knows my children and their hearts. I do believe that God's mercy hovers over them through my faith. That the covenant God has made with me in the blood of Jesus extends to my children and their children’s children. Psalm 103:17 says, "But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, and his righteousness unto children’s children." Zechariah 10:8 says "I will hiss for them and gather them, for I have redeemed them."

  I pray that God has used me to have been to my children what my family had been to me and future generations will reap their own rewards. For now, I will follow my Grandmother's advice and "trust God". The rest is up to Him.

So here I am, fifteen years later. I have grown in faith and maturity and am passionate about God and His Kingdom. No longer is Christianity my parents religion. I own it. I know and believe that first and foremost, that I (and no different from anyone else) was known from the beginning of time by God and created in His image. I believe that through the disobedience of my descendants, Adam and Eve, I was born into this world in a tragic human predicament. I was born in a condition of sin and misery. Only BY HIS GRACE have I been given the gift of faith. My faith leads me to believe that through God, and not through any merit of my own, and through the precious blood of His Son, Jesus Christ, sent Him to die on a cross to fully satisfy my sins. A solution to an unpleasant truth. This solution not only comforts me in this life, but it will be my ONLY comfort in death.

So where will this faith journey lead me? I know my time here on earth is short. I've learned as I continue on my life's journey, that my life in relation to eternity is like one second of time. Living a hundred years is a blink of an eye compared to my eternal life. "You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." says James 4:14. When it vanishes, there will be no one on earth who had been responsible for my eternal life except me.Not my parents or grandparents, not Sister Annette or Father Anthony. On my day of judgment, I will be responsible for myself. In other words, the choices that I make here on earth through the gift of my free will, will decide my eternal fate. No one else will be my judge except God Almighty. 

In the meantime, I struggle just like everyone else. Sin has not left my life. I face the same temptations and I stumble and fall everyday. However, through Christ I am a forgiven sinner. Not only that, but I am empowered to overcome sin, although the fruits of victory will not be immediate. I try to share my faith with others when appropriate. I "fly my flag" when I can to make sure the world knows I'm a Christian and defend it when called upon to do so. I don't assume to know all there is to know for I am no scholar. I cannot recite all scripture nor fully explain or understand all it's doctrine. I just try to be faithful, not successful. All I know, all I've ever known since I can remember is one day the only words I long to hear are " Well done, my good and faithful servant".

My friends and readers, regardless of your upbringing, regardless of who you were when you were born or who you were yesterday, I encourage you to call out to God and ask Him to reveal Himself to you . Turn to His scriptures. The Gospel of John is an excellent place to start. Be careful not to listen to hypocritical Christians who are ignorant and intolerant of others. Be careful of the radicals who preach and act out their own agendas in the name of Christianity. If you have missed it by leaving a church prematurely, then humble yourself and go back. Just stop in on a rainy day and close your eyes. Listen to the peace and the quiet. You never know who may tap you on the shoulder.

Blessings,

Joanne

                                  If you want this for yourself, pray this prayer:

God, I've messed up and have sinned against you. Please forgive me. I need you in my life. I believe that Jesus died on the cross to take the punishment of my sins and that you forgive me of all of my sins because of what Jesus did. Lord, I ask now that you fill me with your spirit and help me to live a life for you. Amen.

                            Whoever comes to me, I will never drive away" John 6:37