Growing up, our home was a sacred intersection.
My Dad was a Southern Baptist preacher—his voice full of conviction, his heart rooted in scripture. My Mom was Roman Catholic. Her faith was quieter, more contemplative. But it ran deep.
She supported Dad’s ministry with grace. She sang in the choir, sat in the pews, prayed with the people. But she never gave up her Catholic faith. And he never asked her to.
I remember folks in Dad’s church asking, “Why doesn’t she convert?” And his answer was always gentle, always firm:
“It’s her relationship with God. I can’t make her walk the same path I’m walking.”
As a boy, I didn’t think much of it. But now, with more years and more prayer behind me, I see the wisdom in his words. He wasn’t just accepting her difference—he was reverencing it. And maybe, in his own way, he was quietly drawn toward the sacramental rhythm of her Catholic life more than we ever realized.
The Church teaches that each person is called to a unique relationship with God—shaped by conscience, grace, and vocation. Yes, the fullness of truth is found in the Catholic Church. But we also believe that God’s grace is at work beyond what we can see. My parents’ marriage was a witness to that mystery—a unity that didn’t erase difference, but honored it.
And then there were Dad’s final words to me and my brothers. Not a sermon. Not a list of accomplishments. Just this: “Become good and holy men.”
That was his legacy. A call to virtue. A call to holiness. And that echoes one of the Church’s deepest truths: Holiness isn’t reserved for the few. It’s the call of every baptized soul.
Scripture says: “Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength.”
Dad preached that passage with fire. But he also lived it. And Mom? She lived it too—through the Mass, the Rosary, and quiet prayer. Different expressions. Same depth. Same love.
The Catechism reminds us: faith is both a gift and a response. It’s not just knowing—it’s trusting, surrendering, and loving.
And in the Gospel, Jesus says: “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed… nothing will be impossible for you.”
It’s not about flashy faith. It’s about fidelity. About trusting God even when healing doesn’t come the way we expect. Even when the path looks different from the one we thought we’d walk.
Dad couldn’t force Mom’s faith to look like his. Just like the disciples couldn’t heal without deeper trust. There’s a mystery to each soul’s journey with God. A path that unfolds in its own time, its own way.
And maybe that’s the heart of it:
To honor the quiet work of grace.
To trust that God is moving, even when we don’t see it.
To become good and holy people—not by controlling others,
but by surrendering ourselves.
A Prayer for our walk
Lord Jesus Christ,
You walk with us in every part of life—
in Scripture and in the Sacraments,
in preaching and prayer, in silence and song,
in joy and in sorrow.
Teach us to honor the faith of others—
not as competition, but as a shared journey toward You.
Help us see the small, quiet acts of faith,
and find Your grace in every difference that draws us closer to the Father.
Root us in love that lets go of pride,
faith that holds fast to Your Cross,
and mercy that shapes us into a Eucharistic people—
holy, humble, and burning with Your Spirit.
Amen.
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