By: Sarah Johnson
Updated: Dec. 18, 2023
Originally Published: Aug. 13, 2023
My partner, Mark, is a devout Christian. Not the casual kind who just goes through the motions, but someone who dives deep into the Bible, reflects on Jesus’s teachings, and finds a strong sense of community at his church.
On the flip side, I was raised in a secular Jewish household. What does that mean? Well, I connect more with Jewish humor, like that of Mel Brooks, and the taste of gefilte fish than any formal religious practices. A bat mitzvah? Nope. Attending temple? Not a chance. My Jewish experience was limited to the occasional Passover dinner and lighting the menorah, sans prayers since I didn’t know them.
For a long time, I identified as agnostic until I stumbled upon Penn Jillette’s book, God, No!, which made me realize I was more of an atheist leaning away from traditional labels. I embrace the idea that there’s something beyond the physical realm, but I definitely don’t subscribe to the notion of a deity demanding our reverence.
Initially, I had three non-negotiables for any partner, one being they couldn’t be religious. I have friends with faith, but dating someone with such different beliefs seemed unimaginable. Then I met Mark, who turned my rules upside down, and I fell for him hard.
We tackled the religion topic early on. Mark is an open-minded guy, and his strong beliefs coexisted peacefully with my atheistic views, my openly gay father, and my liberal upbringing. His parents are wonderfully accepting and embody the essence of a “good Christian”: they practice kindness, engage in community service, and avoid judgment. They demonstrate their values through action, rather than preaching.
Then came the kids, the potential catalysts for religious disagreements that everyone warned us about. So, what did we find? Nothing.
Were there fights? Nope. Are the kids confused? Not really. Is there awkwardness around holidays? Not much at all. Do we hide our beliefs from the kids? Not in the slightest. Sunday mornings unfold like this: Mark attends church regularly, and sometimes one or both of the kids join him. I admit to feeling a twinge when they come home with Sunday school papers, but I let it go. If they don’t want to go, they stay home. I try not to lure them away with tantalizing Sunday adventures, but sometimes I do, and we just roll with it.
Christmas is a breeze; I’ve always enjoyed celebrating it! Now, with a household full of Christians, we happily adorn our home with Christmas lights. I’ve embraced my role as “The Jewish Person Who Loves Christmas.” (One day, that’ll be the title of my first children’s book!)
Hanukkah is simple too: we light the menorah, sans prayers, since I don’t know them. I still use the same menorah from my childhood. Other Jewish holidays? They often slip by unnoticed, but thankfully, schools are closed for them now.
Our son is curious about Bible stories and enjoys discussing them with Mark, while my daughter, at 7, is less interested and sometimes muddles my beliefs. Once, she told her friends, “Mommy hates God,” which prompted a heart-to-heart about how she should phrase things better—panic about her friendships kicked in there for a moment!
Believe it or not, Mark and I have never quarreled over religion or how to approach it with the kids. We’ve had our share of engaging conversations about our differing views, but even when we’re worlds apart, we strive to understand each other. I can’t grasp his beliefs, and he can’t quite wrap his head around mine, but we’re still here.
What surprised us early on was discovering we both adored The Chronicles of Narnia series. I had no clue it was rooted in Christian theology, but that didn’t change my love for those books. Mark, on the other hand, had never met someone with strong morals who didn’t derive them from religion.
He used to be more religious and learned from past experiences, like when he left a church that judged him for being “unequally yoked” with me. When he left, several friends followed suit, equally disillusioned.
So, my survival guide boils down to this: mutual respect. Mark believes it’s up to God to guide me, while I know in my heart that’s unlikely. But I see the joy and strength his faith brings him, and I’d never want to stifle that. I’ve met his church friends, and to my surprise, they’re warm and welcoming—far from what I expected, just as I’m sure I was to them.
We both keep our minds and hearts open. That’s the secret to our harmony and success. As our kids grow and ask more questions, we’ll answer them honestly and openly. When it works, it just works.
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In summary, a multifaith marriage can flourish through respect, open dialogue, and a willingness to embrace differences. Our children will navigate their own paths, and as long as we maintain our understanding, we’ll all thrive together.