By Kathryn Simmonds
Marriage between a Christian and a non-believer can sometimes be difficult and painful. It can also be a lesson in understanding that in every good marriage the same work of mutual growing goes on and that God’s love is without boundaries.
According to the most recent World Values Survey, only five nationalities are less likely than the British to say they believe in God (stand up Norway, South Korea, Japan, Sweden and China). Given this reality, it’s little wonder that so many British Christians find partners outside their faith. While St Paul counselled, “Do not be yoked with those who are different, with unbelievers”, a lot depends on whether you bump into someone nice in the parish hall.
As an unequal-yoker of 16 years myself (my husband is unbaptised, and much of his religious education is hazily remembered from the Scouts), I’ve pondered St Paul’s words to the Corinthians. Others have apparently done the same. A quick Google reveals such questions as: Is it a sin to marry unequally yoked? Can a Catholic marry a non-believer? And, rather touchingly, What does God say about being unequally yoked? What is happening in the hearts and minds of my brethren as we stand at Mass alone or with our children, doing our best to nod agreeably if the priest mentions the importance of family prayer?
Speaking to friends in “mixed” marriages invites mixed responses. One person finds it very hard, almost painful to be on a separate path to his spouse. Another is just happy that she has married a good man and there’s love at the heart of their relationship. A friend who began married life as an atheist and then became Catholic says she doesn’t know any different, but continues to pray for her husband’s conversion. There are also the couples who share the same faith on paper, but aren’t walking the same road: one may be lapsed or is only nominally Catholic, which causes its own difficulty.
My husband knew that Catholicism wasn’t just an incidental part of my identity when we met, but I hadn’t known then how my faith would change and deepen over time. I hadn’t considered how hard it might be when the liturgical year isn’t marked by us both. There are seasons when walking alone seems particularly difficult. Easter is such a time. Good Friday, the most desolate day of the year, feels lonelier still without someone to mourn with, and the joy of Easter Day is meant for sharing. Alongside the emotional, there is also the practical to be navigated. My husband’s family is large and jolly, but mentioning church at a family party would be about as welcome as tipping red wine over the carpet. There are countless small moments when differences have felt gaping.
The pre-marriage conversations about bringing up children are all a bit abstract until you’re trying to explain the sacrament of Confirmation to a reluctant teenager. Or saying that, yes, we should be at Mass because today is a Holy Day of Obligation. Floundering about for the right words to inspire is sometimes greeted with the look I recognise as Mum’s gone off on one. Too late to demand their father starts singing from the same hymn sheet.
If all this sounds like a complaint, it’s not intended to be. My husband has blessed my life. He’s patient, (generally) humorous, kind and sees the best in people. He doesn’t judge, he’s warm-hearted and understanding. If you were playing “Guess the Believer” your money would be firmly on him. (As comfort I hold in mind that famous curmudgeon Evelyn Waugh, who when reproved for irascibility despite being a Catholic, replied, “Imagine how much worse I’d be if I weren’t.”)
When it comes to relationships, everyone knows that you shouldn’t try to change someone. But that’s slightly trickier for Christians, because change is the name of the game. At the same time as not trying to change someone (that is nagging them to death until they become the person you approve of) you’re also praying for them to be changed radically from the inside. I continue to pray for my husband because we pray for those we love. If he is unhappy or going through difficulty, then I pray harder.
Naturally I would like him to be zapped by the Holy Spirit as he sits on the sofa watching old episodes of The West Wing. I’d like him to turn to me at dinner one night and say, “You know, all this Christianity business really makes sense.” Or maybe he’d be parking the car one quiet night in Tesco’s and stop short because there before him would be a dazzling 9ft angel proclaiming the greatness of God. Any of those things really. But I know that when and how people come to Him is God’s business. There have been days (now gone I hope) when my own frustrations turned into a passive-aggressive funk on a Sunday morning. But as every Brené Brown fan knows, it’s not healthy to work out your negativity on other people (she says it in slightly different terms).
Earlier this year, I stumbled not on an angel, but a large poster for Alpha outside our local Evangelical church. Without much forethought, I suggested to my husband that we could go together. Without much hesitation, he agreed.
If you’re not married to a fellow Christian, then you always have a foot firmly in the secular. I have a good idea (I think) of how strange religious language can sound if you’re not brought up speaking it, and the evening we arrive at Alpha I’m on alert for how the God-talk might land. But the people on our table are easy to relate to, they have shared interests with my husband and soon start talking about theatre and TV shows I know nothing of. The food is delicious (the Old Testament is a lot more digestible when accompanied by a cheesy baked potato skin) and the general vibe is convivial. We watch a video together then we have a small group discussion. Alpha founder Nicky Gumbel appears on film with his dazzling smile. He is a charismatic speaker and has clearly been sent a mission from God which he has fully accepted. Thousands have followed Alpha to Christ. If Nicky were here, I wonder what he’d say to my husband. The videos include many engaging conversion stories; there are former-atheist scientists, once-greedy business people, an ex-con who turned his life around. What I’m hoping for is a nice Normal Norman saying, “Well bit by bit I drifted into Christianity and now I’m glad.” I guess that’s not very Road to Damascus.
Soon we’re both looking forward to our Wednesday night meeting. Authentic community seems to be something we hunger for in modern life. I’m also enjoying crossing the boundary into this new environment which seems to be bursting with fellowship groups and worship events. We can get cosy in our Catholic bubbles. There’s a joke about a man who dies and gets shown into heaven by an angel. He follows the angel down a long corridor of rooms, and one by one the doors open and the newbie is introduced to those inside – the Sikhs, the Buddhists, the Anabaptists – but at the last door the angel tells the man to be quiet and they tip-toe past. “Why did we have to be so quiet?” asks the man. “Oh, that’s the Catholics,” says the angel. “They think they’re the only ones in here.”
At home after the penultimate meeting, my husband says over a glass of wine that he’s enjoyed the course and likes the people we’ve met. We make a WhatsApp group. As things wrap up and we go back to our lives, I catch myself wondering if there will be a breakthrough, even a quiet one, but it doesn’t seem to come. In a moment of weakness I text one of the leaders from our table, the one who was an atheist and is now training for ministry. Embarrassingly, my text is along the lines of, It hasn’t worked! Everything is just the same! Her kind response to me is the reply I’d hope to offer someone else: God is always working and he has a plan for everyone’s life.
The priest who married us said in his homily, “You can never get to the depths of another person.” How true that is, for we are fearfully and wonderfully made and it is only God who knows us completely. We are always too ready to sort each other into boxes. Religion: none. But that is a human instinct towards definition and identification. To God, there is no such question, no such box, there is only “Beloved”. If we can believe that God sees each of his creations as precious, then my husband and all the other lapsed, wondering, wandering lukewarms or refuseniks are deeply loved, whatever box they have ticked.
As the Church sees it, spouses are called to sanctify one another; they are called to make each other saints. It’s a tall order. But in any good marriage the same work goes on – we are building each other up, we are sharing burdens, we are helping one another grow, we are doing the work of love.
I picture the kind sensitive face of my husband as all the Alpha conversation goes on around him. The way he listens and considers. Carlo Acutis, soon, perhaps, to be the Church’s newest saint, said in his teenage wisdom, “Every human face reflects the face of God.” In the end, that is enough. – The Tablet
