“Francis called himself simple and unlearned, but he had a profound and coherent understanding of human identity, social life and the physical world.

This understanding began with careful attention to the real experience of being human, living in a community, being situated in a particular place, but then he put this experience in the context of a tradition. He could also listen to and learn from people formed by other traditions.”

—  Catholic Franciscan Tradition, Siena College website

“Should I stay or should I go now?”

The words of this 80s punk rock song began popping up in my head recently after spending some time reflecting on my relationship with the Church. Those few words certainly identify the interior struggle I’ve entered into numerous times over the years since my first confrontation with the Church as a teenager.

Dragged into the pastor’s office by Sister Mary Catherine (an alias, of course), the parish priest loudly, and with all the intimidation he could muster, scolded me for attending the bar/bat mitzvahs of my many Jewish friends. He dramatically punctuated his warning with, “You are going to hell!”

In an instant, I was possessed by the self-righteous indignation that silently waits in the heart of most teens. The words uncoiled from where they slept and slithered out of my mouth with a perceptible hiss. “Well, if you weren’t such a mean man you wouldn’t have to worry about your people becoming Jewish!”

I have no recollection of what transpired afterwards, but I sensed it was a good thing I had already made my Confirmation.

This experience opened up the flood gates of questioning for me regarding my place in the Church.

Why would I go to hell for attending a Jewish religious ceremony?

Wasn’t Jesus Jewish? Weren’t the Jewish people worshipping the same God I was? If God loved me, why would God be so unforgiving? I realized there were many things that didn’t make sense to me, and I blamed it all on the priest.

He was wrong, and I didn’t want to have anything to do with a Church that put him in charge of people. I couldn’t understand why anyone would use such a miserable man to teach people about the love of God.

I continued to attend Mass with my Dad, out of respect for him, but mentally and emotionally I had begun my journey away from the Church (my mom, who was Syrian Orthodox, returned to her own church when the parish instituted the guitar Mass). In high school, I began my period of wandering, in earnest. Never away from God, but most certainly away from the Church.

Then, I ended up in a Franciscan college.

Little did I realize the transformation taking place, not only intellectually, but spiritually, as well. It was subtle, it was holistic, it was powerful.

Here I met Friars who were truly present to us, who encouraged our questions, challenged our insights, encouraged a generous response in faith to God and held us accountable for our choices.

Here I experienced a different way of being Church, one that was joyful, prayerful and life-giving. This Church made sense to me because it fit with my belief in a God who was love.

Here I began my journey home.

But in all honesty, the road has been a bumpy one, as any true path to discovery will be.

There have been many times when, standing face to face with the disconcerting humanity of the Church, I have wondered, should I stay or should I go. But today, no longer a teenager, I remember I am human, too.

That’s not to say there aren’t times when my self-righteous indignation doesn’t come slithering up to the surface, but now it’s usually when some late-night comedian or talkshow host, with little understanding of the Catholic faith, decides to hold Catholics in front of their verbal battering ram.

I guess I’m here to stay.