Walk Barefoot

 When I first sat down to write about what it means to be a young Catholic American in modern-day society, my tone was notably defensive. It took me years to rediscover my faith as an adult after bouts of guilt, indifference, confusion, anger, and exhaustion. At that time I timidly entered through the doors of Saint Paul Cathedral in Pittsburgh, terrified of myself and what I might find, and immediately returned home. For the first time in 30 years, my faith became personal.

Then I began listening. To what the Church said about Catholicism. My friends and family. The media. I had a lot to learn, and I yearned to let it envelop me. It did, and it was overwhelming and, at many times, contradictory.

When I would hear about the billions of dollars Catholic Charities distributes for the hungry and the those in need, I would also hear about how that money was "really going toward a priest's new Mercedes" or to cover up an abuse scandal. When I would contemplate where my husband and I would send our infant son to school, people were quick to tell me how “out of touch” and archaic Catholic schools are. I would read timely newspaper articles about race and gender and knew that Catholics weren't encouraged, let alone asked, to provide their opinions or beliefs.

That if you think marriage is a blessed sacrament shared between and man and a woman, you are filled with hate. That if you believe God doesn't make mistakes, then you are a bigot. That you may feel abortion is a tragic epidemic, but you shouldn't let anyone know how much it heavies your heart. "I like you, even though you're Catholic." "Don't go throwing your religion in our faces." The list goes on.
 

So I took a walk.

I trekked along my favorite hidden trail on a Saturday afternoon; I've learned that God grabs hold of my attention most masterfully in nature. Recently captivated with the encyclical by Pope Francis, Laudato Si, I felt called to reconnect. Without fully understanding what I was doing, I removed my shoes and socks and walked barefoot. Carefully. Purposefully. I slowed down and listened to what God was saying to me.

He flooded my senses and my soul. I remembered celebrating Mass in the forest on mossy tree stumps. I felt the cool mud between my toes and drops of humid air that rested on my fingers. I remembered when my husband experienced the powerful grace of the Holy Spirit and was moved to tears during an Easter vigil. I heard a young blue jay call out in song. I remembered when the Bishop absolved me of my every sin.
 

I saw perfection and understood, in that moment, we are all made for love.

But it's difficult to "come down from the mountain" and face everyday life at its most honest and brutal epicenter. You are judged. You see struggle. At times you feel helpless. To be a young Catholic American in modern-day society, though, you have to descend into God.

Have a priest bless your new home. Invite friends of every age and background over for dinner and ask if they would like to participate in the blessing. Pray the Rosary on the bus or read the Bible before you go to bed. Ask questions of each other and yourself. Watch a child call out to Jesus before dawn. Join your Catholic and non-Catholic friends at a church movie night or Theology on Tap event. Prepare hot meals for homeless families who live under bridges. Give money to your church and know how it will be spent. Nurture an unapologetic kind of faith. Listen to others but pray that God continues to captivate you in a whisper. Tell your son that he is fearfully and wonderfully made. Love unconditionally. Walk barefoot.