As a sometime Catholic, I often find myself apologizing. Primarily, I find myself apologizing to those more devout than myself for my negligence. This comes up most often having dinner at my parents’ house with the priests from their parish, who ask the perfectly innocent questions of why they haven’t seen me in a while or where I go to church in my neighborhood.

The other side of the coin is having to apologize for having religious convictions at all. As someone in my twenties living in an urban area and in a so-called creative profession, it’s generally assumed by my acquaintances and associates that I am either an atheist or subscribe to some kind of a New Age-y religion (possibly with the intention of annoying my more conventional parents).

I get a lot of surprised reactions when it comes out that I am Catholic, and I often have to run damage control; this ranges from assuring whomever I’m talking to that he or she hasn’t offended me with an off-handed comment, or telling someone else that my social philosophies aren’t that different than his or hers despite my faith.

I feel worse at these times about apologizing for my faith because I don’t feel it’s something I should have to apologize for. However, amongst the young, hip urban set there are those who mistake an open mind and progressive attitudes with antiquated prejudices against religions they don’t understand. These are the people who wouldn’t bat an eye if I said I was Buddhist, because that would be appropriately New Age-y enough for them.

While religion is typically a very personal (and thus private) thing for me, Lent is a curious time of year when even those of us who aren’t deeply devout become a bit more public about our faith. For starters, what you give up can be very public — if you give up coffee, for example, and are slumped over half asleep at your desk, your co-workers are likely to ask questions. …

The more years that separate me from my time at Notre Dame, the more I realize how easy college made certain things in life.  Making friends was easy as I was surrounded by a great community of people with whom I had a lot in common; I never had to spend a lot of energy finding people with similar interests.  We also had Mass in our dorm, which meant we all went to Mass with our closest friends — it didn’t take a lot of extra work to be part of a spiritual community.  In fact, being a theology major and, in general, just being a Domer, it was never difficult to find tons of groups, retreats, events, or volunteer opportunities that guaranteed an awesome spiritual community.

Then I graduated and lived in a Catholic Worker house.  As a community we said daily prayers together, usually attended daily Mass, and were always having discussions about faith and Church teachings and how to live out the Gospel.  It too was a wonderful spiritual community.

Then came Austin — when I finally found out how hard it is to make friends in the “real world”.  There was no longer a guaranteed community.  I was in the world where most people were very different from me and I had to work to find people that I could relate to and be friends with.  As for a spiritual community, this was even harder.  I couldn’t just walk down the hallway with my roommate to go to Mass.  I couldn’t just get dressed and head downstairs for Morning Prayer.  I had to put effort into finding a place to call home.

Ever since getting married and moving to a new part of town, Brandon and I have been bouncing from parish to parish looking for a home.  Parish-hopping if you will.  Between me, the theology major, and Brandon, a complete and total liturgical nerd, we are extremely picky when it comes to finding the right parish.  A good homily is a big deal to me, which immediately narrows down …