I became a believer during my acting debut at the age of nine. I was the angel in a Christmas pageant where I pronounced the words: "Do not be afraid; I bring you good news." There was no loud trumpet to play to the listening audience, but it was the defining moment when faith moved into my heart.

 I think about the scene every December. Why do I still believe the words I so boldly proclaimed while some of my friends and family have let go of their faith or are, as they say, 'deconstructing their faith.' Was it the angel costume? Did I experience the presence of a holy moment with God? “Belief is a scary word,” writes Kathleen Norris in her book Amazing Grace. “At its Greek root, to believe simply means to give one's heart to." I have struggled to trust my beliefs. I took a quiz once— How Spiritual Are You? My overall score landed on 'average spirituality.' I was neither highly spiritual, a real mystic nor highly skeptical, or resistant to developing spiritual awareness.

One year the perplexities of faith brought me back to the scent of cedar on the way to St. Anthony's Church Vancouver on a Sunday morning. I was a pilgrim revisiting a place where I experienced a mix of good and bad religion. I followed the child dressed in convent colors of a gold blouse, brown tunic, and matching jacket, who boarded the bus in Burkeville, Sea Island, that crossed the bridge to the school run by the Sisters of Charity of the Immaculate Conception. I didn't know it at the time; this order of nuns originated in Saint John, New Brunswick, the city of my birth. The Sisters were most likely involved with lifting me from the arms of my biological mother. Nine years later, on the other side of the country in south Vancouver, the child shows up and learns the art of confession.  

Unlike the years when I attended mass every morning, families filled the church this Sunday. The pews in my childhood were empty, except for a scant group of girls sitting in the front row squirming, barely able to follow the rhythm of the daily readings. I wasn't sure if the sanctuary had changed much; what details can a nine-year-old recall other than incense, the cedar, and the face of Sister Maria Virginia.  

The service opened with the announcements, the upcoming youth tour at the CBC news center, a dinner and dance on Saturday, and a pancake breakfast the week after. Then the intro to Pastor Rev. Marin – what happened to the title Father? Pastor Marin came from Québec and spoke on persistence, prayer, and patience, with a heavy accent. The invitation to participate in the Eucharist drew a long line, including young children. Music flowed from the balcony. His hand is on my life; his hand has always been there. I listened to the youth sing the words and when it was over like a child, I wanted to shout – sing it again. My heart opened to believe in the reality of God’s transcendence, and it was not scary.