One thing I’ve learned on my recent journey through religion and the Bible is that I was wrong. I used to criticize those who go to church and read the Bible as people who think they’re perfect and try to lord (pun intended) it over those who don’t do what they do.

Instead I’ve learned that most people go to church because they’re not perfect and they need something to help them be better people.

Church and the Bible have definitely helped me see things from a different perspective this past year, but – and as self righteous as this sounds – I’ve come to realize that I’m pretty ok at the core and always have been. It wasn’t instilled in me through religion but through my parents.

My Dad was an altar boy and my Nana’s undying wish for him was to become a priest. Her dreams were dashed when my Mom came along and drove that calling straight out of him with her feisty, non-religious ways. I can just imagine my Nana saying, “Well at least she was raised Catholic… 🤷🏻‍♀️”

Three months after they met he asked her to marry him. They’ll be celebrating their 51st wedding anniversary in May.

For my Mom, it was the same as it was for me, but opposite – my Grandmother was very religious, my Grandfather was not.

I think the foundation for my “ok at the core”ness is generational. Instead of relying on the Ten Commandments to govern their families, they all seemed to depend on an unofficial test. I’ll call it “The Asshole Test”.

I never saw any of them judge someone by their religion, race, social status, or education level. If you were a nice person, they liked you. If you were an asshole, they did not. It’s as simple as that.

You can go to church all day everyday and – yes indeedy – still be a complete asshole.

Pa has a particularly telling story about how he was once serving as an altar boy during mass and the priest didn’t hear his response of “Amen”. He got in big trouble afterwards.

He stood up for himself and told the priest that he did say Amen, but the priest called him a liar and continued to berate him.

My Dad told my Grandfather what had happened. He was sitting in the first pew and knew my Dad said it, so he went right up to the priest and told him off. That story makes me proud.

NO ONE is above the truth and what is right.

My parents were never the, “Not my child!” type. If I did something wrong, I had to own up to it. But when I was right, oh boy, did they stick up for me.

My shitty Spanish teacher once spoke badly about me to my Mom. I’ll bet he wished he never did that 🤨

No matter who showed up on our doorstep – friends of all religions, races, looking straight-laced or crazy – my parents greeted them with a welcoming smile and my Mom most likely fed them.

But after getting to know someone, if they proved themself to be an asshole, it was non-negotiable. That’s it. Just don’t be an asshole. I think that should be the 11th commandment.