Family and Faith

I married into Philippine culture in 2012. It has brought me many blessings and helped me to develop.

My own family is tiny and classically English. We rarely meet and are stiff with each other. We would help each other in need, but hardly go out of our way. Then I married into an Irish Catholic family, which was rather larger and closer. I learned about generosity and support, as well as some less pleasant aspects such as hierarchical expectations, undiscussable subjects and forever feuds.

This acted as a helpful primer for the Philippine experience. It has all the positive and some of the negative aspects of the more family-centred western traditions, but exaggerated and multiplied. On balance, I have come to find the culture and great blessing.

This past weekend, we paid one of our periodic visits to Toronto for a reunion centred around the daughter of my brother-in-law, who was turning eighteen. Tradition dictates a party rather like a debutante event. This already highlights three huge differences from how I was brought up. In England, such a party would never happen. Even if it did, nobody living a flight-ride away would dream of showing up. And even if they did, they would never share a house with eighteen others, augmented by visiting local cousins.

It is all very lovely. It is especially good to see how such traditions help families stay strong as generations pass. The elders are revered, the next lot host and try to set an example, the ones behind learn and gradually take over, and the young form lasting bonds.

But, me being me, I cannot just celebrate the positive aspects of this, I can’t resist becoming critical. Partly this is a reaction to being taken out of my routine, a sure sign that I am getting older. Sharing a house with nineteen certainly imposes plenty of distractions and temptations to judge people who aren’t exactly like me. So the longer I stay in Toronto, the more I find myself thinking thoughts that are judging and angry. I feel it happening and hate myself for it, and I try to stay outwardly cheerful – but usually fail.

Many things set this off. One is Toronto itself, or actually a sprawling suburb called Mississauga. It is flat and featureless, and I find we often drive for fifteen minutes past endless shopping malls. My brother-in-law already has a three car family, which goes against many of my principles, but it is hard to see how they can live there any other way – the winter is harsh, the distances long and the mass transit virtually non-existent. Toronto is cleaner than most US cities, the people somehow seem more civically minded, there is evidence that public amenities are well maintained, but still it copies the ugly, sprawling, car-centric model so common in the US.

So I am already angry, and then I observe this extended family and I start judging. Wow, those girls never shut up! Surely people aren’t going shopping yet again? Could we watch something other than a brainless animated movie? What, even more junk food? And don’t get onto politics! 

Luckily, a small miracle happened that helped me to check myself. Of the many lovely aspects of a Philippine family, perhaps the best of all is the ritual of going to church. All nineteen of us got ourselves up on Sunday morning to travel in four gas-guzzlers to a local church. The place is unremarkable, and one of many nearby churches, but there were nearly 2000 worshippers, an impressive testament to Canada’s immigration policy. At church, all the best aspects of an extended family come to the fore.

So I am already feeling more mellow and reflecting on my own behaviour, when I listen to the readings. All three were magnificent. In the first, we heard an old-testament teaching of love thy neighbour, focusing on holding family close and avoiding grudges. The second, from Saint Paul, advised us to always consider ourselves foolish, even to strive after foolishness, for those that think themselves wise are inevitably revealed as anything but and also fail to learn. The gospel argued against seeking revenge, with the famous lines about turning the other cheek. We must always seek to understand, forgive and heal. It ended with the tough message “be perfect”, which I take as a warning against complacency.

The three readings sum up why I find religion and church helpful to me, and why I think it can help many others too. I have no particular faith, if faith means believing in God and afterlives and last judgements and the like. I find much of the human practice of most churches to be hypocritical and unworthy. But many of the teachings are wonderful, and hearing them in a place of reflection with family offers a perfect setting and a fine opportunity.

So I was able to reflect on my own attitude to family, often reactive, reluctant and distant. I was able to reflect on my own pathetic intellectual snobbery judging the worthy tastes of others. And I could embrace, forgive and remember to be generous and supportive. My grumpiness in Toronto is the polar opposite of such behaviour. I could also remind myself what wonderful parents my in-laws are, and what fine young adults their children have become. I could even celebrate the value of family more widely, even praying for the absent family member who had expressed a horribly racist sentiment the last time I saw him but is now suffering through a tough cancer.

On returning to New York, yesterday I attended another mass, this time for Ash Wednesday, and listened to my favourite gospel of the whole year, the one that tells me to pray, fast and give alms but not to brag about it. At St. Thomas’s on Fifth Avenue, the dean gave a fine passionate and self-deprecating homily on the subject, which brought me as much joy as the beautiful music.

In Toronto, I did what I often do when seeking peace and went on a long walk. It was icy and cold but sunny and the path had plenty of beautiful nature. As well as reflecting on my own behaviour, I specifically recalled a walk that I had taken twenty one years ago, and I thought back to those times, good and bad, exciting and mundane, and took plenty of lessons and also much comfort. The church visits are more communal than such walks, and on walks we have to conjure up our own readings and homilies, but such peaceful moments are also blessings.

Far from being perfect, sometimes I feel that I never learning and am just destined to carry on making the same mistakes, perhaps even more so as I grow older and even less tolerant. But looking back on the walk also led me to believe that in some respects I have developed positively. For that I can thank two things more than any other. One is my personal faith, such as it is. And the other is the immersion in a positive family culture, one that emphasises humility, generosity and service. I heartily recommend both blessings.