CLEVELAND, Ohio – I was a public school reject.
That’s what the Catholic school kids called the students who invaded their classrooms on Monday nights for PSR. (An acronym for Parish School of Religion, what Catholics elsewhere call CCD.) Their teachers warned them to hide their art boxes, lest we steal their crayons.
I attended diligently, first through eighth grade, when I was confirmed.
Religious education was important to my parents, so my brother, sister and I also attended Protestant Sunday school. We said grace before dinner, but we never talked about God.
God talk felt awkward, maybe because my parents’ interdenominational marriage caused consternation among some family members. My dad was raised Presbyterian and my mom Catholic, in the small Ontario town where their farms lay a mile apart.
My mom’s parents had emigrated from the southern Netherlands, where everyone was Catholic. My Oma and Opa each had more than a dozen siblings, and my mom had an aunt who was a nun and two uncles who were priests. (There’s actually a Dutch word for priest uncle, heeroom.) My mom and her six siblings grew up with all the trappings of Catholicism, from grace of “Bless us oh Lord” before every meal to crucifixes in every room.
Nearly 50 years later, few of my aunts and uncles or cousins regularly attend church.
Many of my Catholic friends have also dropped the habit. Some are spiritual, but not necessarily religious. Some feel connected to God, but not church. They may be agnostic, or atheist.
This seems pretty normal. According to a 2020 survey by the Public Religion Research Institute, 36% percent of American millennials identified as religiously unaffiliated, up from 10% in 1986, and 50% of Catholic millennials said they have no religious identity.
Across all age groups, though, Roman Catholics hold steady at 20% of the U.S. population, the largest single religious body in the United States. And the Catholic population is growing worldwide, up to 17.7% — with Africa the fastest-growing continent.
Other interesting Catholic facts from the Pew Research Institute:
- About 43% of U.S. Catholics are immigrants or the children of immigrants.
- About 30% of U.S. Catholics attend Mass at least weekly.
- Nearly 60% of U.S. Catholics believe abortion should be legal, though the church is vehemently anti-abortion.
“What do you think about abortion?” a friend recently asked while we were out for dinner, discussing everything from middle school mean girls to partisan politics.
More than a quarter century ago, we attended Christian summer camp together. Now that she’s married to a Catholic, they’re considering Catholic school. It’s all new to her.
I believe in women’s right to choose, I explained. That doesn’t align with the tenets of the church, but neither do a lot of my grown-up beliefs. I’m very much a cafeteria Catholic.
Probably many of us are.
But what does that mean? The Catholic Church is not a democracy; parishioners can’t change dogma. If only 30% of Catholics regularly go to church, does that mean those with a more liberal bent are no longer practicing? How do you square your secular beliefs with your spirituality?
I go to church most weeks – and every week in Advent and Lent – to consider my Christianity. The tradition grounds me, clears my head, brings me peace.
I don’t know what my kids will ultimately decide about church.
My kids are now in PSR. My daughter also helps with a class, and my husband teaches one. My son next month will be confirmed.
We took them to church regularly when they were little, toting books and stuffed animals and baggies of Cheerios. But I don’t make them go to Mass anymore.
For one, they’re already putting in a lot of time in church lessons. And two, I don’t want them to resent the church. I want them to choose what’s meaningful to them.
Meanwhile, our house is open to talking about God and Jesus, prayer and whatever else the kids want to talk about. We have a Lenten calendar on the fridge and we buy fish for Lenten Fridays — though no judgment if they want chicken fingers instead.
And on Easter, we go to church.
Every year, our spring break falls over Easter week. So every Easter, we find a different church.
Whether it’s Washington D.C. or La Jolla, the locals are always welcoming, the Mass is the same and the singing of “Jesus Christ is Risen Today” always stirs my soul.
Wishing you a good Holy Week, all. May you find meaning in your own spiritual traditions.
Cleveland.com content director Laura Johnston writes weekly about life in her 40s in the column, Our Best Life, which is being published early this week because of the Christian holidays. Subscribe to the newsletter to get the column delivered to your inbox each week. Find her on Instagram @ourbestlifecle.
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