We can work it out: it's possible to repair a frayed relationship with the church.

Claire didn't think of herself as Catholic, quite frankly, until she was in her 40s. She had been raised by Catholic parents, baptized as a baby, and even attended parochial schools for a while. But she decided early on that the "Catholic experiment" had proved unsuccessful. She spent most of her school years in trouble, and the Sunday church scene seemed byzantine. The Catholic identity just didn't stick to her life in any meaningful way, or so it seemed at the time. When she stopped going to church, her parents didn't object, and by the time she was out on her own, she had forgotten about the church altogether.

One failed marriage, a reluctant abortion, and three decades later, Claire was about as far from the church as she could imagine being. Still, she found herself standing in a Catholic church again, waiting to speak to a priest. Her father had died, her mother was too distraught to take care of the arrangements, and Claire knew it was her father's wish to be buried with a Catholic funeral. Though at this time in her life Claire was the successful owner of her own business, the idea of talking to a priest made her feel about 12 years old and oddly scared.

But nothing happened the way she had anticipated. The priest was young and gentle-spoken, not like the grouchy old pastor locked in her childhood memory. He was very sympathetic to her story, which was so unexpected that she found herself crying and talking for the next hour about the struggles of her life--things she certainly hadn't planned on saying--to a priest of all people!

He asked her if she intended this to be a matter for Confession; not really understanding what he meant, she nodded, and he gave her absolution. Though Claire had often had regrets about the turns her life had taken, it had never occurred to her that there could be forgiveness, an end to the remorse and the responsibility, a way to find healing and start over. Despite the pain of her present mission, Claire found herself glad and grateful to be standing in that church.

Later that week the funeral for her father was a moving and powerful experience. She had taken Communion at the funeral for the first time as an adult, and suddenly this action, which had always seemed meaningless, became significant and comforting in a way that echoed through her for days afterward. Without intending it, without even consciously choosing it, Claire found herself belonging in that place again and wanting to be there.

As incredible as it still seems to her a decade later, Claire returned to the church, body and soul, that winter. She even received training to become a eucharistic minister and to extend that opportunity of belonging to others. "Being Catholic is the bottom line for me now," she admits with great enthusiasm. "I didn't just come back to the church--I am the church. I won't give up my seat again."

Where you once belonged

Claire is just one of the legion of Catholics who found themselves on the outside of the church for years and then made their way back. A majority of Catholics who abdicate their seat in the church do return at some point in their lives, and the route back is as varied as the reasons they left. Some come back to raise their children with a strong set of values. Others feel a void that could not be filled by relationships and creature comforts. Some report a specific spiritual need or lack of meaning that drew them back. Those who came from families with close ties to the church may eventually feel remorse about being away from the sacraments. Certain life events may precipitate a second look at the church: a family crisis or marriage breakdown, moving to a new community, even having an explicitly religious experience.

Catholics who return cite certain factors as very inviting. Parishes that exhibit a participatory style of leadership are attractive, as are those that offer varied worship experiences and programs aimed at the returnees' particular age group or life experience. Nothing beats a direct encounter with a warm and sympathetic representative of the church, like the one Claire had. Parishes that advertise in the bulletin or local newspaper that they welcome Catholics who have been away and have a support group for returnees are likely to get returning Catholics.

Ray came back to the church through such a group at age 30. From the time he knew he was gay in his teens, being Catholic had no longer seemed an option. His life took a dramatically new trajectory, away from his hometown, the confused response of his family members, and the religion that had always seemed to say "negative things about sex in general--and double that if you're homosexual." Ray moved to a gay-friendly city and found support for the person he understood himself to be in a strong community and life-giving relationships. Things were painful when he looked back, so he tried to keep his focus on the present and the future.

"Then the future got shaky," he says simply. "Friends got sick, people got scared, my family wasn't there for me. Yet God had always been there, as strange as that may seem. I never doubted God, and I always had a reliance on the sense of the sacred. I even used to light candles for friends in trouble, that sort of thing. I knew I wasn't alone, that ultimately there was love and acceptance."

Ray may not have returned, however, if it hadn't been for the ad he saw in the Sunday newspaper: "It was this outrageous photo of Lucille Ball tasting something awful and making such a grimace! The headline read, 'Catholicism leave a bad taste in your mouth? Come and talk about it!' I had to laugh. I thought, 'These people can laugh at themselves. That's a good sign.'"

So Ray attended the advertised meeting at that church. He found a group of Catholics both in and out of the church who listened without judgment, asked sympathetic questions, and invited each person to come to Mass that Sunday and sit in the pews together. When he showed up that week, Ray was surprised how many others from the group did too. Afterward they went out for coffee and agreed they were more than a little homesick for the church. They decided to keep coming back to the parish-sponsored meetings and to Mass. With a little support they began to think they could work out their differences.

A hunger for God

Ray came back to the church because of an explicit invitation. Sometimes that can happen one-on-one, as when a friend or coworker collars a "lapsed" pal and asks her to come to the 5 p.m. jazz Mass at St. Rita's on Sunday, "and stay for the wine and cheese!" For others the anonymous approach works better, especially if there's a chance to tell the story that led to departure and to get some validation for the reasons they've been away.

In Paul's case, no invitation was necessary for him to return--unless you count the hunger for God an invitation. He had exited the church in his teens and stayed away for 15 years. Today he is a priest. As he recalls his early childhood experiences of being Catholic: "It was a mixture of fun and fear. Things like choir, being an altar boy, the festivals and outings were fun. But Mass was a drag, as was catechism. The fear of everlasting damnation was very real and acted in my life like eerie background music of a movie that you know is going to get really scary."

When asked about the specifics of his departure, he says: "Two things made me stop going to church. The first was that I began to see a real gap between what the priests preached and how they lived. It seemed that all the money that the church collected for charity just got pumped back into the church facility. I didn't see the church helping the poor; it just seemed like they were helping themselves.

"The second thing was a growing disbelief that condemnation could be so universal. Based on what I was hearing, just about everybody was going to hell. But I really didn't think God would damn someone for eating a hot dog on a Friday. So the whole thing began to fall apart for me, and as I gained more freedom from my parents, I stopped going."

Paul admits he still struggles with some of the issues that drove him away as a kid: "The harsh conservatism of many church leaders still tends to discourage people. Also, the church still seems to spend much of its time, energy, and resources protecting the institution and guarding its entrances. It seems to me that the church sets up unnecessary obstacles that block the way of people seeking to move closer to God.

"I remain Catholic for the same reason I returned: I think I can make a difference. I believe God is calling me to be part of the force that is reforming the church and bringing it closer to what it's supposed to be."

In it for the long haul 

For those just emerging into adulthood with newfound independence and personal power, it can be an overwhelming challenge to remain faithful to the simpler spiritual values learned in the family circle. Yet many do. How do they do it and why?

"My parents aren't what I would have called 'real religious,'" Amy confesses. "They took us to Mass on Sundays, and we prayed before meals and at bedtime when we were little. But we didn't talk about our faith or anything like that. It was just understood, like the cross hanging in the living room and the small sculpture of the Last Supper in the kitchen. They didn't make a big deal out of it, but in the background of every decision they made for us was this fidelity: to God and to love. Without a lot of pious drama, that was it."

In college many of Amy's friends tried alternative spiritual paths. Amy dutifully went with her crowd to the local Vedanta center to try meditation or to hear lectures on Buddhism or transcendental meditation. But she always came back convinced she'd had the same experiences and heard the same message before--at the Newman Center, where she attended the weekly folk Mass and signed up for an occasional half-hour of adoration before the Blessed Sacrament. "Maybe it was less cool to do all. this in church instead of with the swamis but I had to admit it all pointed to the same thing," she says.

Today Amy has her own apartment, and on the wall of her bedroom is a small cross. In the main room is a portrait of Our Lady of Guadalupe. "Is it kitschy?" Amy says. "Probably. But these are just signs of something deeper about who I am. Being Catholic is not something I need to advertise, but it's the grass I walk on. I hope it will keep me true, the way it kept my parents."

Megan's experience of growing up Catholic was a little different. "My parents were social-justice hippies," she says. "I remember losing a baby tooth while picketing a lab where bombs were made. And I protested racial injustice before I understood what it meant. My folks always equated being Catholic with being part of 'the cause.' It never occurred to me that you could just go to Mass on Sunday and be done with it."

This unusual childhood experience seemed very normal at the time. "OK, I admit I came home a few times wanting something the other kids were talking about at school, like three hours of junk TV a night or Guess jeans. Sometimes I didn't really want to hear about the greenhouse effect; I just wanted to know why we couldn't have a bigger family car! But Morn wasn't rigid about this stuff. She'd explain to me about kids my age working in sweatshops and then tell me I could have any pair of jeans I wanted during back-to-school shopping. And in the end, I just couldn't let her buy the designer pants. I just couldn't be that big of a jerk."

Amy and Megan both think of themselves as "lifer" Catholics, in it for the long haul because of the steadfast influence that religious faith had on their parents. They appreciate the values they were taught and seek to emulate them. They believe staying close to the church will get them where they hope to go as faithful adults.

Not smooth sailing

David's relationship to the church is not as uniformly smooth as Amy's or Megan's, and he admits to having issues with Catholicism. But these patches of disagreement do not fray his overall connection to the church. David is a musician in his early 30s; he is married to a Protestant woman, and he is bothered by the way his church distinguishes between him and his wife.

"Hard lines are drawn around who's in and who's out," he declares. "When Jesus said, 'This is my body, which is given up for you' and 'This is my blood, which is shed for all,' I interpret this literally. Jesus invites everyone to Eucharist despite the fact that none of us deserve it. Our human institutions are much less welcoming."

It is not hard for David to list other policies of the church that are incongruous with his sense of justice. But he remains Catholic despite these conflicts: "I meet many enlightened people in the church whose values are similar to mine. Although the official church position on these issues is antagonistic, I see God's will being done despite rigid policy." He has also visited other corners of organized religion and found strengths and faults everywhere he goes. In the end, he returns home to Catholicism.

When asked what's best about being Catholic, David does not hesitate to reply: "Catholics acquire a strong sense of history and devotion through the Mass. When I visit churches that use a less structured form of worship, I miss this the most. Saying the familiar prayers again and again, each utterance calls my attention to different phrases, and I realize how rich Catholic liturgy is."

David views his religious faith primarily in terms of a personal choice for his own life. For Jim, remaining faithful to his Catholic heritage as a father of three young girls involves what's best for the innocent lives dependent on his care. The clergy sex abuse scandals are at the top of the list of things that cause him to struggle in his relationship with the church.

"I have no words to fully describe the pain, the sadness, and the anger I feel toward these perpetrators," he admits. "Yet I find my faith in the Catholic Church shaken more by those who covered up each and every incident. Those involved in the cover-up were probably very sane individuals motivated by the desire to maintain the power and position of the church and perhaps their individual careers within the church. That hurts the most."

Jim's dissatisfaction with certain aspects of church leadership does not threaten his overall commitment, however. As he puts it: "I feel it is important to separate the theology of the Catholic faith from the institution that runs it. Clearly, the human element of the church is flawed. Yet the theology remains intact."

Jim shares with many Catholics the conviction that the "catholicity" of the church is its hallmark and its most attractive feature: "To be able to travel across the country and stop anywhere, anytime, at any Catholic church, attend Mass, and feel connected with that congregation is remarkable. The consistency of our faith and the ritual of the Mass, I believe, make that connection. Finally, I relish the opportunity to be part of the heritage and tradition of the church. In an era where secular culture and beliefs change daily, it's a real privilege to be part of an institution that has survived for over 2,000 years."

Jesus is the reason

Many people who remain active within the church are not there because of the church per se: the pull is the One who is at the center of it all. For Elaine, a laywoman who works full-time as a pastoral associate in a Catholic parish, the person of Jesus is what keeps her close to a church that often seems far from heaven.

When asked what the best thing about being Catholic is, she responds, "I guess the best thing is knowing who and what I am. I am a follower of Jesus Christ, and I am called to have that shape my life."

But why celebrate that identity in this particular context? "I am reminded of scripture: 'To whom else shall we go?' Yes, this is the faith that fed my ancestors for generations. Through it, God has kept us all alive and connected to one another. It feels like it's in my DNA. But it's more than just an inheritance for me. I love the image of God-in-Jesus and of life that I find in my church."

One might assume that Elaine has had an easy relationship with the church, considering that she has chosen to make it her life's work. But when asked if she struggles, she sighs and says: "Let me count the ways: The unchristian use of authority and power in the structure of the church bothers me. Our tradition sometimes traps us instead of giving life to us, as with women's limited role in the church, the limited promotion of lay leadership, the unhealthy 'good old boy' network of clergy that protects itself instead of empowering others and the truth. These institutional structures are so often historically based, not theologically grounded."

Far from being deterred or alienated by the conflicts she experiences in the present-day church, she finds in it all her purpose. "My faith makes my life ... more meaningful." She smiles, adding, "The church also gives me a community of like-minded people to share the journey with. Those people are the closest thing to family I could have."

Fur Elaine, Jesus makes the ideal of the church worth fighting for. For Tom, a man in his 50s, Jesus is also at the core of his work and his heart.

"There is so much richness and depth to the faith that it takes a decision to be a disciple in order to 'get it,'" Tom says. "We have to take on a whole new way of seeing in order to 'put on Christ' as St. Paul says. We have to enter into mysteries and paradoxes, one of which is turning to an all-too-fallible institution to access the authentic truths about all creation and our Creator."

Tom can go from an expression of the sublime significance of his faith to the somewhat ridiculous particulars of it without missing a beat. He recounts an especially bad recent experience with a visiting preacher at his church who went on and on "in a scolding tone, beyond 30 minutes" during Mass. "It seemed arrogant, insensitive, and torturous," Tom says. "Other parts of the Mass were mediocre at best. And then at Communion, we sang, 'I myself am the bread of life. You and I are the bread of life.' And I was moved to a combination of repentance for my own arrogance and frustration and relief at my true identity--a member of the Body of Christ.

"I don't get that message anywhere else. I hear that I'm a consumer, that I deserve a break today, that I will only be happy with more, more, more, or that we need to bomb and attack other people to be secure. But I don't hear that I am the Body of Christ, broken and blessed, poured out and shared. And quite frankly, I need to hear that regularly because I'm a slow learner and a fast forgetter. That's why I need the church."

The 'happy Catholic' myth

What becomes clear after talking with involved and devout Catholics of every age group, political persuasion, and personal style is that the ideal of the "happy Catholic" out there dwelling in blissful contentment with every aspect of his or her life in the church is misleading. A surprising percentage of the folks sitting in the pews (or even in the sanctuary) have been away from the church at some point in their lives. Others have arrived punctually every Sunday but not without some serious considerations and caveats. Some Catholics have broken the rules and found themselves at great odds with the teachings of the church. Finally, many of the staunchest Catholic adherents have concerns and had experiences within their life in the church.

But none of these things move these folks to sign off altogether and stay home or find a religious path elsewhere. For many, perhaps most, Catholics in the pews, finding a practical peace with the humanity of the church for the sake of its divine elements is a balance worth achieving. This often means making peace with our own humanity as well and accepting the reality that, like St. Paul, we aren't always the Christians we mean to be.

It might surprise many of us to speak to our older Catholic family members, in an unguarded and undefensive moment, about their own struggles and disappointments with the church. Even though Grandma prays her rosary every afternoon, she may still shake her fist at the local bishop's latest fiscal decision. The woman who professed her vows with a religious community 40 years ago loves her life as a sister and yet, without taking a breath, can recite five issues the church needs to reconsider. Catholic parents help their children learn their catechism by heart and do not feel they are being unfaithful when they explain to the kids that their own informed conscience, to which they are answerable, is a higher authority than the pope himself.

Being a faithful and loyal Catholic, in other words, is not incompatible with the idea of wrestling with and finding instances of dissent in matters that are not essential to the faith. If you have doubts about what the essential faith of the church is, get a copy of the Nicene Creed, the "profession of faith" we make at Mass, and read it carefully and prayerfully. It was written to capture the church's understanding of itself and of the revelation of God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. It is the gold standard of Catholic Christian belief. The rest of church tradition and teaching is built on this foundation.

If we struggle with other aspects of church policy and practice, these concerns do not separate us from the faith of Jesus Christ. Since the informed conscience is the highest authority to which we must answer, any matter of dissent is a call for further study, reflection, and prayer on the issues that give rise to the conflict.

To such prayerful consideration belongs the future of the church, for every renewal and reform began with a movement in the hearts of the faithful. The fruits of this labor of love will sometimes be greater clarity and respect for the church's position and will on other occasions be an expansion or reconsidering of the teaching itself. But above all, as the church, together we will achieve the wisdom and understanding the Holy Spirit promises.

Try, try again

A conversation about the church, we might agree by now, is a lot more complicated than it looks at first glance. What do we mean by our use of the word church, and what do we want--or reject--when we take a stand in regard to the church?

Protestant theologian Karl Barth spoke of the church as a great crater left by the impact of God's revealing Word. He saw the church in a way that is more stark, powerful, and historically devastating than others might. But biblical scholar E. P. Sanders viewed the institutional reality of the church more skeptically. He observed that while Jesus proclaimed the coming of the kingdom, it was the church that arrived.

Others might insist that Christianity is not a religion so much as a faith in a person, and the call to follow Jesus as more critical than choosing a denominational "flavor." Many might agree that Jesus is more essential than the religious practices that came after him.

For most Christians sincerely trying to live out their faith, this is what it comes down to: pledging our lives to the particular person of Jesus Christ. As Catholics, we commit to that pledge through our Baptism and are sustained in that desire in our celebration of the Eucharist. While there are hundreds of reasons to refrain from receiving the Eucharist, there is only one reason to receive it: because Jesus has invited us to be there and to share in his life. In the centrality of this act, all other factors regarding church organization pale in significance.

Our unity around this table becomes the window through which we see ourselves as children of God, sisters and brothers in Christ, and bearers of the Holy Spirit. Nourished by this meal, we move outward to share the gospel in works of love, justice, peace, charity, faithfulness, forgiveness, and hope. It would be a loss to ourselves and the world if we allowed any secondary matter to keep us from our place at the table, which is our right according to our Baptism and our greatest gift from Jesus.

This doesn't mean the pain or disharmony we may feel with specific teachings of the church or particular representatives of the institution will just go away. It does mean we have to decide to which we will assign more power: the pain of the past or the present call of the Lord. St. Paul reminds us in the Letter to the Romans, "I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Either Paul is guilty of hyperbole here, or we can be reassured that all of the things that seem insurmountable between us and our unity in Christ are more negotiable than we thought.

Robert Frost wrote in his stirring poem "The Death of the Hired Man": "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, / They have to take you in." Members of a family, no matter how fractious their relationships may be, belong to one another in irrevocable ways. In that sense, all baptized Catholics can think of the church as the place where we cannot be denied entrance, no matter "what we've done or failed to do," as we pray at the beginning of Mass. This implies that the door of the church is one that can never be closed and bolted behind us. If we want to be there, our right to belong is guaranteed.

Some folks have been away from the church for a quarter century or twice that. Chances are, the church to which they return will seem surprisingly new. That may be confusing and difficult at first. For others, the church they return to might seem maddeningly unchanged. In any case, it would be unrealistic to assume that one could ever return to the church without conflict and contradiction being part of the picture. This is not an institution governed by angelic beings. What may be most challenging for many who return to the church is that the sources of tension or disagreement are still where you left them.

It would be dishonest for anyone to promise you that a future relationship with the church would be free from the strife involved in the old one. When a separated couple comes back together for a second try, what caused hardship between the couple in the past is bound to be a factor in the future.

But what may have changed is the couple's willingness to talk about the trouble, and they may have a renewed commitment to work things through. Finding a community that is not afraid of honest dialogue will go far toward making sure that past issues do not remain submerged like land mines in the future. Without that dialogue, we are all the poorer. Engaged in that conversation, we ensure that none of the gifts of the Body of Christ will be lost, to the church or to one another.

Excerpted from A Faith Interrupted: An Honest Conversation with Alienated Catholics by ALICE L. CAMILLE and JOEL SEHORN (Loyola Press, 2004). Reprinted with permission of Loyola Press (800-621-1008, www.loyolabooks.org). The subjects' last names have been omitted to protect their privacy.