I come from a family that went to Mass every Sunday. No questions. And it wasn’t like school where you could complain of a stomach flu and maybe get to stay home. To get out of going to Mass, you had to vomit up a spleen at least. We were hardcore Mass goers every Sunday. My Mom even shockingly went on other days (gasp!) when it wasn’t even a law that you had to go.
When I did something wrong, my mother dragged me to confession. I was dragged there a lot—so often that I think some of the priests started scheduling it into their day.
As unlikely as it seems in such a family, I had my very first crisis of faith when I was only eight years old while training to be an altar boy. A little...READ MORE