About Faith

Dearest MJ,

So, now that you know a little bit about your mother and I, I would like to talk to you about something that we both share and ties us so close together. I'm talking about faith. Also, it helps if you read your mother's post about the story of you if you haven't already.

From the OED, here's the definition of faith:

Pronunciation: /feɪθ/
noun
[mass noun]

1. complete trust or confidence in someone or something
2. strong belief in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual conviction rather than proof:        

Despite all of the hardships and heartache we experienced before you were born, your mother and I always had faith that we would have a baby, aka you. There were no guarantees and there were times where the strength of our faith wavered, but it never died. I think it helps when you surround yourself with a strong support system.

Your mother and I were born and raised as Roman Catholics, though we don't go to church every Sunday. We believe that it's more important to live your day-to-day life as a good person as Jesus would have wanted you to rather than certain people who go every Sunday, take pride in that fact, yet act like stuck-up jerks or engage in activities that seem to contradict the teachings of the church. I guess that's another topic altogether. Although, it definitely wouldn't hurt to go as often as you can and as often as you want, since there's something to be said about dedication, so long as you do things for all the right reasons.

When times were tough, your mom and I took refuge in two places, one fairly close by and another about three hours away from our current home.

The one three hours away is a pilgrimage we took every couple of months. I'm talking about the shrine of Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré which is near one of the most beautiful cities on the planet, Québec City.

Shrine of Ste-Anne de Beaupré (courtesy of Andre Gunther Photography)

Saint-Anne was Jesus' grandmother. Not much is known about her but she is often depicted as a loving figure in Jesus' childhood. I think that's what happens when you become a grandparent. Because, I know that my memories of my grandmothers (we call them "Lolas" in the Filipino tradition) are nothing but tender, sweet and loving moments. I'll tell you all about your great-grandmothers in another post. Also, I see how your grandparents (aka my parents and your mother's parents) are around you; they just go bananas and are so full of love.

Statue of Ste-Anne in the Shrine (courtesy of The Shrine of Ste-Anne)

So, the shrine was built in the honor of Saint-Anne and it is known for healing people and thus giving people hope to receive miracles. Also, Saint-Anne is the patron saint of people trying to get pregnant. I'm sure she heard our prayers loud and clear; we always felt better going there, feeling safe in the Shrine, and leaving with a feeling of reassurance that everything would be ok even if it didn't seem like it at the time. So, we are ever grateful for Saint-Anne and her guidance and that a shrine to her exists and isn't too far.

When we didn't have time to make the three-hour trek to see Saint-Anne, we would go somewhere much closer. In fact, it's one of my favorite places in the world, not to mention that it's right here, in Montréal, Saint-Joseph's Oratory.

The Oratory at night

Located atop of Mount Royal, it's about as close as you can physically get to Heaven in this city without getting in an airplane or helicopter. Constructed in 1904, it is an icon in our city, reflecting the strong Catholic roots here in Montréal. It is an impressive structure whose dome is modeled after Saint-Peter's Basilica in Rome. There is a flight of 99 wooden steps reserved for pilgrims who wish to make a prayer on their knees for every step they climb. Founded by Saint Brother André, this was a place of refuge for many people for many years. They say that that he performed miracles; he was thus recently canonized in 2009.

This is the place I go to when I'm feeling hopeless; I pray for strength. This is also a place where I go to give thanks when I feel blessed. Because of our schedules, your mother and I have gone many times at night, around 8:30pm and the feeling of tranquility and peace is just wonderful, especially when you go outside and see a vista overlooking the city that spans for miles on a clear day.

The view isn't the most aesthetically pleasing, but that big brown building is the Jewish General Hospital where many people I care about, including your mother, have gone to heal. As if St-Joseph was literally looking over them. (courtesy of Jamie Snook)

In the Votive Chapel, there are Bas-Reliefs depicting Saint-Joseph's patronage for a particular cause. Here, you can make a donation to light a candle; usually people follow this up with a prayer. The one your mother and I always went to is the one for Families. We also spent a lot of time at the Central Lamp Stand where there is a statue of Saint-Joseph looking over us.

Saint-Joseph  at the Central Lamp Stand in the Votive Chapel (courtesy of Alain Carpentier)

Standing in front of his statue, I have always felt safe in Saint-Joseph's presence. Here, at the Central Lamp Stand, is intended for people to ask Saint-Joseph for favours. I know what I asked for and I have a pretty good idea of what your mother asked for too. I am convinced that Saint-Joseph had a big part in you being here. That's where you get part of your name from.

I believe that all of those prayers and those pilgrimages really meant something. How could I not when our very own miracle came true?

You and your mother at a lookout in St-Joseph's Oratory

I don't know much about a lot of things, but I do believe in the power of Faith and intention and that they help you get over the rough times in life and help you appreciate the great moments too.

MJ, you don't have to be religious or even follow a religion if you don't want to; we won't force you to. But I hope that you can appreciate that we are all part of something much greater than ourselves and life can have more meaning if you only believe.

I love you,


-Dad