I really loved this so much Jeannie, imagine the world if more souls had the courage to go there and do this: "Yet my heart, day after day, is drawn to those on the fringes of where religion and society at large dare not trod—to the places where the forgotten believe they are nothing and that no one cares enough to walk alongside them." THANK YOU. <3
Yes, Stephanie. I hear you. And your comment deeply touches my heart. I’m grateful you’re here with me. I really need the support of people like you. So THANK YOU!
Jeannie, this piece resonates deeply with me. I was raised Catholic, went to Catholic boarding school, and followed "the path" up until the birth of my third child, when I started to understand I had a lot of feelings about my faith that had been simmering for years. Still, it took me a few more years to reach breaking point. It came after we moved to a new city and I was looking to sign my oldest up for First Communion preparation. Basically, the requirements -- returning for First Communion class on Sunday afternoon AFTER mass and Sunday school -- struck me as so family UNfriendly that I refused to do any of it. I barely recognized myself, but those feelings were real. I had so much resentment at feeling like I had to "prove" my faith with class after class for every sacrament, for me and my children. How does one go to church their whole life and show up as faithful, and it still not be enough to say, "I'd like to have my child baptized," without having to take another class? I had too many questions and was over it. Done. And free. I embraced what I've always known in my heart; my religion is human connection, kindness, and a belief that there is something bigger than us, something beyond our human lives, and that our purpose here pretty much boils down to learning how to love each other. It doesn't need a name, it doesn't exclude, shame, or judge. I guess you struck a chord with this piece! I thank you for your vulnerability and honesty in your writing, and I'm very grateful I discovered you here.❤️
Wow, Maria, this is beautiful. I just want to honor the honesty in your rendering. I hear all of it. While I still am a practicing Catholic (for many reason, all of which are multifaceted), I totally understand the many differing journeys people take around religion or through it or between it, or whatever. I respect that. Totally. In some ways, I wish I could be at the point where you are—free—and at the same time, I love so many aspects of my religion. I love the Eucharist. I love the liturgy. I don’t want to sever myself from these. Does that make sense? I feel conflicted, torn, almost always, because there is something that keeps pulling me back to church every week, yet I do not feel I belong there, either.
What you pointed out here is one of the many reasons I feel Catholicism in particular is in trouble. As an institutional church, we are not family friendly! We say we are—in our theological doctrines about natural family planning and marriage as a free/total/faithful/fruitful sacrament and in respecting the dignity of all human life—but in practice we do not. Everything centers around rules and regimens, as you noted. It’s a complete departure, in my view, from what Jesus likely wanted Church to be. And, to me, Church is beyond the walls of a building or the structures of a hierarchy.
We are Church.
We embody Church.
It’s a tragedy and truly breaks my heart that the institutional church turns so many away because they are more concerned with the “right of rites” than they are about genuine relationship.
I’m choosing to return to relationship. So glad we have connected, Maria! This is a beautiful discussion.
Jeannie, I want to tell you how much I adore your openness, authenticity, and warmth. Thank you for being you!
And yes, that makes complete sense! I totally get it. One of my struggles was leaving the beauty of the church behind. Incense, choir music, the worn cushion on the kneelers and smooth wood of the pew, prayers that fell off my lips as if I was born knowing them—I loved all of this and more. It was part of me, and I think it always will be in some way.
It took a therapist to ask why I couldn't still benefit spiritually from all of those things? So, while I am not at mass regularly, I consider it more of a "portal" for my spirituality, while I have released myself of the pieces that troubled me. I suppose it felt like taking back my power in some way, and with that came peace.
That’s really a beautiful perspective, Maria, especially this—”as if I was born knowing them…It was a part of me, and I think it always will be in some way.” You just summarized exactly what I was trying to say, and you did so succinctly!
That’s how I feel about Catholicism. I was born into it, and it’s a part of me. It always will be. XO
Mind you, it wasn’t a complete waste of time, the peach cobbler recipes are worth their weight in gold. I can take or leave the Mormon Green Jell-O and the casseroles were pretty mediocre. Other than that…it is what it is.
I was born into a dysfunctional Mormon Culture. Our family “Mormonism” skipped my mom’s generation and I accompanied my grandmother to church services on Sundays as well as attending the youth meetings on Wednesday evenings. I noticed a number of things that are worth noting.
My sense of humor, while admittedly somewhat twisted, was not appreciated by Church Leadership. Neither were my observations regarding inconsistencies in their “scriptures”. My last question for them was why God needed his golden plates returned? Did God need to reallocate his portfolio?
Any dogma that requires mental gymnastics to make it make sense should be defined as gibberish and the institution built on such gibberish should be abandoned.
It’s become obvious to me that too many of our institutions serve the single function of self perpetuation and little else.
Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
I had to laugh out loud when I read, "Why did God need his golden plates returned? Did he need to reallocate his portfolio?" 🤣🤣🤣
I agree about the mental gymnastics. Religion, to me, is first and foremost about relationship. The rest is peripheral.
Having gotten involved in theological debates in the past, I get why some people get caught up in rhetoric for its own sake. At the same time, we lose the real purpose of belief, of faith, of worship. We lose sight of love, in my experience.
Such a great conversation here. Thank you so much for opening up about your experience.
I love this piece so much, Jeannie. It takes more than courage to love beyond our tribes. It takes learning a new language, encouraging cultural expression that doesn't look exactly the same as our own. Laying down defenses, coming out from behind our walls.
I appreciate that, Laury. I love how you wrote “it takes more courage to love beyond our tribes.” That says it all. How have you done this, if you care to share? How have you loved beyond the labels and containers into which you were raised? I would love to hear more.
Really sweet of you to ask a follow-up question. I appreciate it because it made me think. First, I think there's a special calling to love within the tribe. Community is where we get our hands dirty and do the work of active love.
But there's so many aspects of this conversation that I'm going to try to limit it to a couple things I thought about and expand it later in a post!
First, it depends on how we define love. Is love appreciating others because they agree with us? Is it stronger than that? This seems obvious, but within faith traditions and specifically certain areas of dogma, being in a loving relationship requires that kind of theological agreement.
Secondly, I just want to say that there is no limit. There's no limit to where love can take us. Love has taken me to a rave with my 16 year old son who had left our home and had started life on his own. Love's taken me to acceptable places like soup kitchens, to unacceptable places like strip clubs. The first step outside of our tribes is only the beginning to where love might lead us if we're willing.
Laury! This is so beautiful and powerful. Would you write a guest piece for my Substack and expand on this? I felt so connected to everything you wrote, and I want to hear more—about the fringes of the world where you have brought love and found it, like in the soup kitchens and raves and strip clubs.
It’s so compelling how you wrote, “There’s a special calling to love within the tribe. Community is where we get our hands dirty and do the work of active love.”
I would love to publish a guest essay on my Substack about this if you are interested. Your perspective adds so much texture to this conversation, and I value it so deeply. Thank you.
As a person who himself was born into the Catholic faith tradition and practiced it passionately, yet now, admittedly, shallowly, it is fascinating to read your own journey through your faith, especially knowing as I do how your involvement, knowledge, and skill in bringing many of the teachings to a wider audience was/is meaningful and still relevant. It’s a constant paradox, right? And you are bringing a safe sense of soulful reflection as you surface these deep questions in the midst of a structure, I know, we weren’t supposed to question. This wrestling with the true teachings of Jesus (especially, and maybe only, the Beatitudes), vs the dogmas of the religions built around his life and story, IS the compelling, yet hidden riddle of living a life of faith, but not of religion. Personally, I think Jesus would be proud of those who pause to question (after all, the “doubting” Thomas was an under-appreciated Apostle for those of us who don’t feel confident in questioning our faith) —I would like to believe Jesus would affirm our questioning with compassion; and then say “Here, put your finger in these nails holes; but your hand in my side. See the suffering of the world? Please feel it now.” I would like to believe Jesus would comfort us by saying “You don’t need religion to have faith.”
Your words, experiences, (and Sarah) help me on my own journey. So, deep bows of namaste and gratitude 🙏🏼
Kert, I feel immense gratitude in reading your comment today. The more people open up about their nuanced relationship with religion, the more I realize how many of us are out there who see beyond the structures and walls and hierarchies that exist in the Church as institution.
To me, the Church has always been more about people, about relationship, than doctrine and dogma.
At the same time, I have always been a rule follower. I’ve always wanted to be “the good girl” rather than the rebel. I did what I was told. I did the “right” thing. I didn’t get in trouble. In fact, I was lauded for being so “good.”
A lot of this stems from my upbringing. I am beginning to understand that it isn’t religion itself, in theory, that is the problem necessarily, as I see much good in religion (all religions). It’s religion in practice that is troublesome. That’s where people abuse power, weaponize the Bible, justify oppressing marginalized groups, perpetuate misogyny, abuse children, etc.
There are also more subtle ways that religion is used for control, of course. In my case, I was raised with a mother who was diagnosed with OCD when I was about twelve or so. I believe she is of the scrupulous subtype. I see that more, because everything she raised me to believe was centered around fear. She was preoccupied—obsessed—with safety. So religion became a natural conduit for my mom to place my younger brother and me within the “safe” containers of Catholicism’s doctrines and rules.
Everything was “right” or “wrong,” or “holy” or “sin.” Everything. She still sees the world this way. It’s been a gradual movement away from my mother’s worldview that has given me clarity about the role of religion in my own life. And what keeps me is relationship.
It’s what you said about what Jesus would have wanted. I believe that, too. So grateful to be in conversation with you!
As always, your story resonates with me, Jeannie. This segment makes me think of how Jesus told his disciples, "If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet.” So glad you shook the dust off your feet!
I agree, Kelly. What I really love is how people are commenting about Jesus as a person, what he would have wanted from us. And it makes me think of Church as institution versus Church as people.
Church is relationship to me. That’s paramount. And that belief and value stems from me looking to Jesus as my primary example of love.
I can't fathom how difficult is must have been to sit with another person's grief. Your advice is timely; my father-in-law just passed, and I have no idea how to show up for my husband. Thank you, always, for your valued words.
Oh, Julie, I’m so sorry to hear about your father-in-law’s death. You’re right. We never really know how to show up when these things happen, except I can say that the way you show up here is so beautiful and honest and real that I can only imagine you are also this way for those you love, those closest to you. Sending you hugs and love.
Thank you, Jeannie, for this series. This particular installment really resonated with me because I am a Christian and of my immediate family, my father, my sister and two of my three brothers are/were atheists or agnostic, though when I was a child we were brought up in the Church. My parents, my sister and my Christian brother have passed away, leaving me and two brothers who are non-believers. We’re getting up in age and every day I pray that the Holy Spirit will act in their lives and they will come to Jesus and be saved. I remember that soon after I opened my Substack account I read some of your work and I commented that you had the Spirit of God. I’m distressed that a lot of my family members have rejected the teachings of Jesus and the Prophets, but I do take comfort in the words of Scripture that God will wipe away every tear. I’m also grateful that in the next life I will have many, many brothers and sisters who are adopted children of God. Thanks again for putting your life journey into words and sharing so much of yourself. I think it’s great that you and Ben collaborate on some of your work. May the Lord richly bless you and your lovely family, and give Sarah a great big hug from my wife and me!
Rafael, I really appreciate you opening up in this space today. It’s fascinating to me to read about people’s journeys and relationships with religion, because it is so complex. We change over time. We grow. We question. We fight. We reject. We doubt. It’s all part of the human experience.
I wonder sometimes what happens to those who remain tightly nestled in the tidy containers of their faith traditions and who never ask the hard questions or wrestle the dark figures. What happens to them? How do people grow and mature if they don’t occasionally resist the labels and rules they are told to use and follow?
It means a lot that you saw the Spirit of God in my writing, even from early on. I am so glad the light resonates in what I share. Thank you for telling me that.
I think you’re right, Nancy. I meant unhinged in the sense that I was less concerned about getting the “right” message on the page. I didn’t mean it in a chaotic sense.
Jeannie, what an excellent essay. First of all, it takes a special person to sit with people and their grief. This is not something everyone can do. People trusted you to listen; they felt safe with you.
I love this line: "They want presence, not platitudes." This holds true for so many situations. In my case, when I was going through breast cancer treatment and diagnosis, people would say meaningless stuff like, "At least you look good,!" "Breast cancer is the best cancer to get," and of my double mastectomy and reconstruction, "You are so lucky to have gotten a boob job and tummy tuck."
As you know, I am Jewish. For awhile, I lost my faith in God because I lost a good deal of family in the Holocaust. My dad was born in Warsaw, Poland,. When the Germans invaded Poland, he was two years old. He, his mom, and a few aunts and uncles escaped by traveling all over Europe. My dad turned out extremely disturbed, and my childhood was difficult. I blamed God. Why did He allow such a tragedy as the Holocaust?
Thank you, Beth, for everything you shared here. There’s so much to say!
First, I am appalled (and continue to be, the more I read/hear) that people respond to someone’s difficult situation with instant solutions and sunny spirituality. I hate that. I felt really angry reading that someone told you breast cancer was the “best” cancer to get—as if ANY cancer is good! Seriously?! Or to make it into something about your appearance—at least you look good, at least you got a boob job and tummy tuck—again seriously?! I mean, these comments reinforce the societal perception that women are only valued for how we look, not for who we are.
I also hear you about being angry with God, about losing faith, and I appreciate your openness here in this space about what that looked like for you. I have a friend who lives in Israel, and we are working together to shape an essay she wants to share on my Substack. What she has come up with so far is so beautiful, Beth. It’s just…real. It’s just honest.
I think that’s what I love about these conversations in this space—they are real, unfiltered, true expressions of who we are. They are honest.
Thank you so much, Jeannie. I am so looking forward to reading your friend's essay. I totally agree that this space is honest and gives us the opportunity to be ourselves.
Jeannie, your words truly resonated with me, especially your journey of realizing the need for transparency in your writing. It's incredibly brave to share how you felt unsettled by the "safe stories" you were expected to tell. I've often felt a similar tug between what's expected or comfortable, and what truly feels authentic to my own experiences. It's a tricky balance to navigate, especially when you've built a career around a certain path.
There's a liberation in finally allowing yourself to speak your full truth, even if it means venturing into uncomfortable territory. Your honesty about questioning beliefs and allowing for anger with God really struck a chord. It's a space that's often left unexplored, and yet, it's so vital for genuine healing and connection. Thank you for being so candid about your own process; it truly makes your message feel deeply human and accessible.
I'm so proud of you for sharing so openly. 🩵 This has been a beautiful series.
Your comment has so much texture to it, Alex, particularly since we briefly touched on this conversation during our small group meeting last week. I think you might be right that there's more to explore here, not just with myself, but to open my heart and my time for others who come my way to unravel their own stories about faith and identity and what it means for them as they are today.
Even though I often see you in Notes, I’ve somehow missed many of your posts—until this one found its way to me, just when I needed it most.
As June winds to a close, so too does this chapter of healing for me. My shingles are nearly gone, and with their departure, I feel the stirrings of a new beginning—an invitation to start over, gently.
Reading your words stirred something in me. They asked me to pause, to look inward, to reckon with the layers of my own life. And in doing so, I found both clarity and confusion—sometimes tangled together.
Still, what remains clear is this: you have made a quiet, beautiful difference in my life. Thank you for that, Jeannie. Truly.
Wow, Dawn, what a beautiful testimony. First, I'm relieved to hear your shingles are healing, and it's interesting to read that you're feeling this new awakening inside. I love that you used the word "stirring," because one of my favorite phrases from the Bible is "stir into flame the Spirit." I can't remember where it is, but that's what your comment reminded me of.
I want you to know that it makes sense that you're feeling a mixture of both clarity and confusion, because it seems to me that most transitional times in our lives are paradoxical. I gently encourage you to explore that as it emerges, or stirs, inside your heart.
You are a gift to me, Dawn. Thank you for being you. ❤️
That’s wonderful to hear, Dawn. I wrote that so long ago, and I would write it differently now, but it came from a place where I was still searching to understand grief as it pertained to my complicated feelings and experiences surrounding Sarah’s birth and diagnosis.
Beautiful Jeannie! So glad you stopped playing it safe. This: Holding space for sacred sadness, —you are doing it still, in a way that is fully aligned with your being.
I know that voice that shouts in a whisper “you’re playing it safe” and the voice that doesn’t speak but tugs at me with a roar “PLAY BIG!”
The key word here is Play.
Is what you are doing playful for me? Does it bring me joy? Does it make me giggle? Does it make me run to the nest step like a kid at an amusement park…what’s the next form of play?
I really loved this so much Jeannie, imagine the world if more souls had the courage to go there and do this: "Yet my heart, day after day, is drawn to those on the fringes of where religion and society at large dare not trod—to the places where the forgotten believe they are nothing and that no one cares enough to walk alongside them." THANK YOU. <3
Yes, Stephanie. I hear you. And your comment deeply touches my heart. I’m grateful you’re here with me. I really need the support of people like you. So THANK YOU!
Jeannie, this piece resonates deeply with me. I was raised Catholic, went to Catholic boarding school, and followed "the path" up until the birth of my third child, when I started to understand I had a lot of feelings about my faith that had been simmering for years. Still, it took me a few more years to reach breaking point. It came after we moved to a new city and I was looking to sign my oldest up for First Communion preparation. Basically, the requirements -- returning for First Communion class on Sunday afternoon AFTER mass and Sunday school -- struck me as so family UNfriendly that I refused to do any of it. I barely recognized myself, but those feelings were real. I had so much resentment at feeling like I had to "prove" my faith with class after class for every sacrament, for me and my children. How does one go to church their whole life and show up as faithful, and it still not be enough to say, "I'd like to have my child baptized," without having to take another class? I had too many questions and was over it. Done. And free. I embraced what I've always known in my heart; my religion is human connection, kindness, and a belief that there is something bigger than us, something beyond our human lives, and that our purpose here pretty much boils down to learning how to love each other. It doesn't need a name, it doesn't exclude, shame, or judge. I guess you struck a chord with this piece! I thank you for your vulnerability and honesty in your writing, and I'm very grateful I discovered you here.❤️
Wow, Maria, this is beautiful. I just want to honor the honesty in your rendering. I hear all of it. While I still am a practicing Catholic (for many reason, all of which are multifaceted), I totally understand the many differing journeys people take around religion or through it or between it, or whatever. I respect that. Totally. In some ways, I wish I could be at the point where you are—free—and at the same time, I love so many aspects of my religion. I love the Eucharist. I love the liturgy. I don’t want to sever myself from these. Does that make sense? I feel conflicted, torn, almost always, because there is something that keeps pulling me back to church every week, yet I do not feel I belong there, either.
What you pointed out here is one of the many reasons I feel Catholicism in particular is in trouble. As an institutional church, we are not family friendly! We say we are—in our theological doctrines about natural family planning and marriage as a free/total/faithful/fruitful sacrament and in respecting the dignity of all human life—but in practice we do not. Everything centers around rules and regimens, as you noted. It’s a complete departure, in my view, from what Jesus likely wanted Church to be. And, to me, Church is beyond the walls of a building or the structures of a hierarchy.
We are Church.
We embody Church.
It’s a tragedy and truly breaks my heart that the institutional church turns so many away because they are more concerned with the “right of rites” than they are about genuine relationship.
I’m choosing to return to relationship. So glad we have connected, Maria! This is a beautiful discussion.
Jeannie, I want to tell you how much I adore your openness, authenticity, and warmth. Thank you for being you!
And yes, that makes complete sense! I totally get it. One of my struggles was leaving the beauty of the church behind. Incense, choir music, the worn cushion on the kneelers and smooth wood of the pew, prayers that fell off my lips as if I was born knowing them—I loved all of this and more. It was part of me, and I think it always will be in some way.
It took a therapist to ask why I couldn't still benefit spiritually from all of those things? So, while I am not at mass regularly, I consider it more of a "portal" for my spirituality, while I have released myself of the pieces that troubled me. I suppose it felt like taking back my power in some way, and with that came peace.
That’s really a beautiful perspective, Maria, especially this—”as if I was born knowing them…It was a part of me, and I think it always will be in some way.” You just summarized exactly what I was trying to say, and you did so succinctly!
That’s how I feel about Catholicism. I was born into it, and it’s a part of me. It always will be. XO
Mind you, it wasn’t a complete waste of time, the peach cobbler recipes are worth their weight in gold. I can take or leave the Mormon Green Jell-O and the casseroles were pretty mediocre. Other than that…it is what it is.
I hear you. :)
I was born into a dysfunctional Mormon Culture. Our family “Mormonism” skipped my mom’s generation and I accompanied my grandmother to church services on Sundays as well as attending the youth meetings on Wednesday evenings. I noticed a number of things that are worth noting.
My sense of humor, while admittedly somewhat twisted, was not appreciated by Church Leadership. Neither were my observations regarding inconsistencies in their “scriptures”. My last question for them was why God needed his golden plates returned? Did God need to reallocate his portfolio?
Any dogma that requires mental gymnastics to make it make sense should be defined as gibberish and the institution built on such gibberish should be abandoned.
It’s become obvious to me that too many of our institutions serve the single function of self perpetuation and little else.
Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Your Mileage May Vary.
I had to laugh out loud when I read, "Why did God need his golden plates returned? Did he need to reallocate his portfolio?" 🤣🤣🤣
I agree about the mental gymnastics. Religion, to me, is first and foremost about relationship. The rest is peripheral.
Having gotten involved in theological debates in the past, I get why some people get caught up in rhetoric for its own sake. At the same time, we lose the real purpose of belief, of faith, of worship. We lose sight of love, in my experience.
Such a great conversation here. Thank you so much for opening up about your experience.
I love this piece so much, Jeannie. It takes more than courage to love beyond our tribes. It takes learning a new language, encouraging cultural expression that doesn't look exactly the same as our own. Laying down defenses, coming out from behind our walls.
I appreciate that, Laury. I love how you wrote “it takes more courage to love beyond our tribes.” That says it all. How have you done this, if you care to share? How have you loved beyond the labels and containers into which you were raised? I would love to hear more.
Really sweet of you to ask a follow-up question. I appreciate it because it made me think. First, I think there's a special calling to love within the tribe. Community is where we get our hands dirty and do the work of active love.
But there's so many aspects of this conversation that I'm going to try to limit it to a couple things I thought about and expand it later in a post!
First, it depends on how we define love. Is love appreciating others because they agree with us? Is it stronger than that? This seems obvious, but within faith traditions and specifically certain areas of dogma, being in a loving relationship requires that kind of theological agreement.
Secondly, I just want to say that there is no limit. There's no limit to where love can take us. Love has taken me to a rave with my 16 year old son who had left our home and had started life on his own. Love's taken me to acceptable places like soup kitchens, to unacceptable places like strip clubs. The first step outside of our tribes is only the beginning to where love might lead us if we're willing.
Laury! This is so beautiful and powerful. Would you write a guest piece for my Substack and expand on this? I felt so connected to everything you wrote, and I want to hear more—about the fringes of the world where you have brought love and found it, like in the soup kitchens and raves and strip clubs.
It’s so compelling how you wrote, “There’s a special calling to love within the tribe. Community is where we get our hands dirty and do the work of active love.”
I would love to publish a guest essay on my Substack about this if you are interested. Your perspective adds so much texture to this conversation, and I value it so deeply. Thank you.
As a person who himself was born into the Catholic faith tradition and practiced it passionately, yet now, admittedly, shallowly, it is fascinating to read your own journey through your faith, especially knowing as I do how your involvement, knowledge, and skill in bringing many of the teachings to a wider audience was/is meaningful and still relevant. It’s a constant paradox, right? And you are bringing a safe sense of soulful reflection as you surface these deep questions in the midst of a structure, I know, we weren’t supposed to question. This wrestling with the true teachings of Jesus (especially, and maybe only, the Beatitudes), vs the dogmas of the religions built around his life and story, IS the compelling, yet hidden riddle of living a life of faith, but not of religion. Personally, I think Jesus would be proud of those who pause to question (after all, the “doubting” Thomas was an under-appreciated Apostle for those of us who don’t feel confident in questioning our faith) —I would like to believe Jesus would affirm our questioning with compassion; and then say “Here, put your finger in these nails holes; but your hand in my side. See the suffering of the world? Please feel it now.” I would like to believe Jesus would comfort us by saying “You don’t need religion to have faith.”
Your words, experiences, (and Sarah) help me on my own journey. So, deep bows of namaste and gratitude 🙏🏼
Kert, I feel immense gratitude in reading your comment today. The more people open up about their nuanced relationship with religion, the more I realize how many of us are out there who see beyond the structures and walls and hierarchies that exist in the Church as institution.
To me, the Church has always been more about people, about relationship, than doctrine and dogma.
At the same time, I have always been a rule follower. I’ve always wanted to be “the good girl” rather than the rebel. I did what I was told. I did the “right” thing. I didn’t get in trouble. In fact, I was lauded for being so “good.”
A lot of this stems from my upbringing. I am beginning to understand that it isn’t religion itself, in theory, that is the problem necessarily, as I see much good in religion (all religions). It’s religion in practice that is troublesome. That’s where people abuse power, weaponize the Bible, justify oppressing marginalized groups, perpetuate misogyny, abuse children, etc.
There are also more subtle ways that religion is used for control, of course. In my case, I was raised with a mother who was diagnosed with OCD when I was about twelve or so. I believe she is of the scrupulous subtype. I see that more, because everything she raised me to believe was centered around fear. She was preoccupied—obsessed—with safety. So religion became a natural conduit for my mom to place my younger brother and me within the “safe” containers of Catholicism’s doctrines and rules.
Everything was “right” or “wrong,” or “holy” or “sin.” Everything. She still sees the world this way. It’s been a gradual movement away from my mother’s worldview that has given me clarity about the role of religion in my own life. And what keeps me is relationship.
It’s what you said about what Jesus would have wanted. I believe that, too. So grateful to be in conversation with you!
As always, your story resonates with me, Jeannie. This segment makes me think of how Jesus told his disciples, "If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet.” So glad you shook the dust off your feet!
I agree, Kelly. What I really love is how people are commenting about Jesus as a person, what he would have wanted from us. And it makes me think of Church as institution versus Church as people.
Church is relationship to me. That’s paramount. And that belief and value stems from me looking to Jesus as my primary example of love.
Right on, Jeannie, I love that way of looking at it. The lens of institution certainly clouds the original meaning of the teachings!
I can't fathom how difficult is must have been to sit with another person's grief. Your advice is timely; my father-in-law just passed, and I have no idea how to show up for my husband. Thank you, always, for your valued words.
Oh, Julie, I’m so sorry to hear about your father-in-law’s death. You’re right. We never really know how to show up when these things happen, except I can say that the way you show up here is so beautiful and honest and real that I can only imagine you are also this way for those you love, those closest to you. Sending you hugs and love.
Thank you, Jeannie, for this series. This particular installment really resonated with me because I am a Christian and of my immediate family, my father, my sister and two of my three brothers are/were atheists or agnostic, though when I was a child we were brought up in the Church. My parents, my sister and my Christian brother have passed away, leaving me and two brothers who are non-believers. We’re getting up in age and every day I pray that the Holy Spirit will act in their lives and they will come to Jesus and be saved. I remember that soon after I opened my Substack account I read some of your work and I commented that you had the Spirit of God. I’m distressed that a lot of my family members have rejected the teachings of Jesus and the Prophets, but I do take comfort in the words of Scripture that God will wipe away every tear. I’m also grateful that in the next life I will have many, many brothers and sisters who are adopted children of God. Thanks again for putting your life journey into words and sharing so much of yourself. I think it’s great that you and Ben collaborate on some of your work. May the Lord richly bless you and your lovely family, and give Sarah a great big hug from my wife and me!
Rafael, I really appreciate you opening up in this space today. It’s fascinating to me to read about people’s journeys and relationships with religion, because it is so complex. We change over time. We grow. We question. We fight. We reject. We doubt. It’s all part of the human experience.
I wonder sometimes what happens to those who remain tightly nestled in the tidy containers of their faith traditions and who never ask the hard questions or wrestle the dark figures. What happens to them? How do people grow and mature if they don’t occasionally resist the labels and rules they are told to use and follow?
It means a lot that you saw the Spirit of God in my writing, even from early on. I am so glad the light resonates in what I share. Thank you for telling me that.
"I am becoming more unhinged and more honest in my writing."
It disturbs me when I read "unhinged" and "more honest" in the same sentence.
Perhaps you are more deeply connected to your core belief, therefore more honest in your writing. 😘
I think you’re right, Nancy. I meant unhinged in the sense that I was less concerned about getting the “right” message on the page. I didn’t mean it in a chaotic sense.
Interesting - my phrase for the “happy Catholic narrative” is “Catholic happy crap.”
That’s the same concept, Asela, isn’t it? Happy Catholic narrative or Happy Catholic crap. Basically synonymous with spiritual bypassing.
Jeannie, what an excellent essay. First of all, it takes a special person to sit with people and their grief. This is not something everyone can do. People trusted you to listen; they felt safe with you.
I love this line: "They want presence, not platitudes." This holds true for so many situations. In my case, when I was going through breast cancer treatment and diagnosis, people would say meaningless stuff like, "At least you look good,!" "Breast cancer is the best cancer to get," and of my double mastectomy and reconstruction, "You are so lucky to have gotten a boob job and tummy tuck."
As you know, I am Jewish. For awhile, I lost my faith in God because I lost a good deal of family in the Holocaust. My dad was born in Warsaw, Poland,. When the Germans invaded Poland, he was two years old. He, his mom, and a few aunts and uncles escaped by traveling all over Europe. My dad turned out extremely disturbed, and my childhood was difficult. I blamed God. Why did He allow such a tragedy as the Holocaust?
Thank you, Beth, for everything you shared here. There’s so much to say!
First, I am appalled (and continue to be, the more I read/hear) that people respond to someone’s difficult situation with instant solutions and sunny spirituality. I hate that. I felt really angry reading that someone told you breast cancer was the “best” cancer to get—as if ANY cancer is good! Seriously?! Or to make it into something about your appearance—at least you look good, at least you got a boob job and tummy tuck—again seriously?! I mean, these comments reinforce the societal perception that women are only valued for how we look, not for who we are.
I also hear you about being angry with God, about losing faith, and I appreciate your openness here in this space about what that looked like for you. I have a friend who lives in Israel, and we are working together to shape an essay she wants to share on my Substack. What she has come up with so far is so beautiful, Beth. It’s just…real. It’s just honest.
I think that’s what I love about these conversations in this space—they are real, unfiltered, true expressions of who we are. They are honest.
Thank you so much, Jeannie. I am so looking forward to reading your friend's essay. I totally agree that this space is honest and gives us the opportunity to be ourselves.
Hearing that keeps me showing up, Beth. Truly. That’s why I’m here.
Jeannie, your words truly resonated with me, especially your journey of realizing the need for transparency in your writing. It's incredibly brave to share how you felt unsettled by the "safe stories" you were expected to tell. I've often felt a similar tug between what's expected or comfortable, and what truly feels authentic to my own experiences. It's a tricky balance to navigate, especially when you've built a career around a certain path.
There's a liberation in finally allowing yourself to speak your full truth, even if it means venturing into uncomfortable territory. Your honesty about questioning beliefs and allowing for anger with God really struck a chord. It's a space that's often left unexplored, and yet, it's so vital for genuine healing and connection. Thank you for being so candid about your own process; it truly makes your message feel deeply human and accessible.
I'm so proud of you for sharing so openly. 🩵 This has been a beautiful series.
Your comment has so much texture to it, Alex, particularly since we briefly touched on this conversation during our small group meeting last week. I think you might be right that there's more to explore here, not just with myself, but to open my heart and my time for others who come my way to unravel their own stories about faith and identity and what it means for them as they are today.
Hi Jeannie,
Even though I often see you in Notes, I’ve somehow missed many of your posts—until this one found its way to me, just when I needed it most.
As June winds to a close, so too does this chapter of healing for me. My shingles are nearly gone, and with their departure, I feel the stirrings of a new beginning—an invitation to start over, gently.
Reading your words stirred something in me. They asked me to pause, to look inward, to reckon with the layers of my own life. And in doing so, I found both clarity and confusion—sometimes tangled together.
Still, what remains clear is this: you have made a quiet, beautiful difference in my life. Thank you for that, Jeannie. Truly.
Wow, Dawn, what a beautiful testimony. First, I'm relieved to hear your shingles are healing, and it's interesting to read that you're feeling this new awakening inside. I love that you used the word "stirring," because one of my favorite phrases from the Bible is "stir into flame the Spirit." I can't remember where it is, but that's what your comment reminded me of.
I want you to know that it makes sense that you're feeling a mixture of both clarity and confusion, because it seems to me that most transitional times in our lives are paradoxical. I gently encourage you to explore that as it emerges, or stirs, inside your heart.
You are a gift to me, Dawn. Thank you for being you. ❤️
I’m also finding a lot of solace reading your book, “From Grief to Grace; The Journey from Tragedy to Triumph”.
That’s wonderful to hear, Dawn. I wrote that so long ago, and I would write it differently now, but it came from a place where I was still searching to understand grief as it pertained to my complicated feelings and experiences surrounding Sarah’s birth and diagnosis.
Beautiful Jeannie! So glad you stopped playing it safe. This: Holding space for sacred sadness, —you are doing it still, in a way that is fully aligned with your being.
I know that voice that shouts in a whisper “you’re playing it safe” and the voice that doesn’t speak but tugs at me with a roar “PLAY BIG!”
The key word here is Play.
Is what you are doing playful for me? Does it bring me joy? Does it make me giggle? Does it make me run to the nest step like a kid at an amusement park…what’s the next form of play?