Chapter Four: My journey as a Lutheran
I started to question religion when I was in high school. Many of my friends were Lutheran and I liked what they were learning. I could believe their teachings much easier than some of my Catholic teachings.
One of the biggest problems I had was going to confession. Yes, I thought I needed confession but I didn’t understand why I needed to go through a Priest to ask for God’s forgiveness or how the way I confessed my sins by reciting a list that I wasn’t sure was right, made a difference.
I graduated from high school and spent some time in college before quitting to go to work. During this time I met my husband to be. Before we could get married he had to go through marriage instruction in the Catholic Church. He was turned off and so was I from his joining the Catholic Church when the Priest made a comment about the Vikings and used a derogatory word against another race during a conversation. I must admit that too made me question my roots.
A few short months later my father died. The funeral was in the Methodist Church and it made me sad that the first time I attended his church was the day of his funeral. What it would have meant to him for us to go to church together when he was alive, but he never questioned the authority of the religion I was raised in.
Later on, I would find letters during my mom and dad’s thirteen-year courtship of the problems they had getting married because of the difference in their religion, something as a young child and teenager I had never thought of and it was something they never spoke of. It took them thirteen years to challenge the stigma of what then was called a mixed marriage.
My first son was baptized Catholic in a private baptism because of my husband not being Catholic. At least one sponsor had to be Catholic and that was no problem since my best friend during my grade school and high school years was Catholic.
Observing my husband’s family and what his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews knew of the Bible and the education in the church, I made the decision to change religions. I wanted something for my family I never had growing up and that was to go to church as a family.
So I started instruction in the Lutheran Church from the Pastor I mentioned earlier. My mother told me I was going to hell because I was changing religions. It was not an easy time but she loved her grandchildren and so she tempered her judgment–still, over the years it would come up in subtle ways, such as her reluctance to attend communion and confirmation of her grandchildren.
Her feelings were still prevalent when she was in her nineties. She never let go of telling me I was going to hell because I was a Lutheran and not Catholic. It caused me sadness and her heartache because of her views. Can you imagine believing your only child was going to hell?
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