Junior year of high school. I’m sitting on a hotel bed in Indianapolis, surrounded by my club travel volleyball team. Our assistant coach is a guy in my grade who is Jewish. After we lost this morning, we all headed back to the hotel. He spent the bulk of the afternoon driving around with our Head Coach trying to find matzah, parsley and hard-boiled eggs. As he starts un-packing what looks like home-made dog food, one girl asks, “I’m Christian. Am I going to go to hell for doing this?” He states, “Jesus was Jewish. This is what He did.” Standing in the corner of the hotel room, he starts rambling in what sounds like really rough Hebrew, as the room full of teenage girls stares at him in amazement. What is he doing? Why are we here? Why would any normal person eat parsley dipped in salt-water?

That was my first Passover.

I married that man. We have five children. Catholic children. He’s still Jewish, and wears a kippah to mass. Every Sunday. We host our parish’s Seder Supper with over 300 people every Holy Week. We celebrate Biblical holidays. We celebrate the liturgical seasons. I study the Doctors of the Church. I study the ancient and modern sages and rabbis.

I have learned more about my Catholic faith from that Jewish man than any other person on planet Earth.

Which makes sense, right? 

Because my Catholic faith was founded, defined and lived by another Jewish man…. Jesus.

And where did he learn it?

At home…… in Mary’s Workshop.