About once a year, on a family group text, one of my sisters or parents will inevitably ask: "So are we Catholic again?" It's the flippancy of the question, as much as its content, that
betrayed how drastically my family's identity changed over the years. My
sisters and I were raised Catholic, and not casually: The church was my
upbringing, and it was my foundation well into young adulthood.
But over the years, something had changed. It wasn't a group decision or a hard stop — over the years, we just drifted until we found ourselves so physically and philosophically separated from the church and from one another that our faith was no longer a safe assumption. I couldn't name the last time our family went to mass together, even on Christmas or Easter. Catholicism ceased to become part of our conversations. Instead, we turned to more polite dinner table topics, like politics. Our former religion was reduced to a kind of passive-aggressive joke, frivolous enough to make over text message.
http://www.vox.com/2015/9/30/9417963/lapsed-catholic-francis
But over the years, something had changed. It wasn't a group decision or a hard stop — over the years, we just drifted until we found ourselves so physically and philosophically separated from the church and from one another that our faith was no longer a safe assumption. I couldn't name the last time our family went to mass together, even on Christmas or Easter. Catholicism ceased to become part of our conversations. Instead, we turned to more polite dinner table topics, like politics. Our former religion was reduced to a kind of passive-aggressive joke, frivolous enough to make over text message.
http://www.vox.com/2015/9/30/9417963/lapsed-catholic-francis
