Anyone else ever worry whether their kids will keep the faith after they leave the house? I have a sneaking suspicion I’m not alone. Often my fears meld into a self-reflective question or two; something like, “Am I doing enough today to help them keep it?” I’d like to think so. We attend Mass as a family, pray together, and talk about our faith regularly. All sounds good until I recall conversations I’ve had with other Catholic families who have done the same thing … and whose kids are no longer practicing, at least not currently.

Current statistics bear this out when I read, for instance, in an article published by the Knights of Columbus that 50 percent of Catholics who walk away from the faith are age 25 or younger.

I often wonder why there’s such a crisis. I’m certain the reasons are innumerable and have as much to do with our culture as anything else. But I also wonder if we’re doing a good enough job as Catholic educators, making our students’ faith real and relevant in the classroom. What I find interesting is how many people are flocking to faiths that seem far more stringent than ours — traditions whose rubrics leave no room for flippancy.

Another striking study suggests young people are becoming increasingly more attracted to faiths that present clear, deep and strict ideals. An analogy that comes to mind is the kids from troubled families with whom I’ve dealt as a juvenile detective. The kids from the most difficult environments often “begged” for rules and structure, even as they claimed they didn’t want it. When those kids lived in homes without rules, they failed to find direction — in fact, peace. On the converse, when they found themselves in environments characterized by flagrant, callous rigidity, they also failed.

Couldn’t the same thing be said about faith? Why is balance so difficult? When we water down our Catholic faith — or we’re afraid to talk about the rules for fear we’ll lose people, we end up losing them anyway. And when we fail to convey to our youth that the heart of the law is mercy, we do the same.

I think our human nature is attracted to structure. And structure isn’t bad; as long as we don’t hide behind it to avoid getting our “hands dirty” showing compassion. I’ve heard it said before: Legalism says God will love us if we change; but the Gospel says God will change us because He loves us.

Interestingly, my students tell me that one of the things they struggle with most is going to confession. Some of their reasons may be valid. Perhaps they’ve had poor experiences with priests. But many of them claim they don’t like to go because it’s “uncomfortable.” I wonder: couldn’t the same be said about any type of healing? When we open ourselves to be cured of any ailment, we shouldn’t be surprised when it’s a bit … well, sore. Why should spiritual healing be any different?

When I was younger, I prayed for idle things. Now that I’m a father, I pray mostly for my family. What I want my daughters to know — in fact, my students, too — is that even amidst their brokenness, God wills relationship with them. And as much as I’d like to facilitate that for them, it’ll be up to them to do their part.

I think the plight of St. Monica says it best. In her efforts to get her son Augustine to return to the faith, she pleaded with him regularly, hoping he would see the light. Finally, she approached her spiritual director, who gave her some wise advice. “Monica,” he said, “talk to Augustine less about God; talk to God more about Augustine.” We all know how that ended — with one of the greatest saints in our Church’s history.

The bottom line is that we can do everything “right” as parents, and our kids are still going to make their own decisions. In the end it’s between them and God. I revel in the fact that God wants communion with them far more than we want it for them. And I’ll take those odds any day.

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Paul Stuligross teaches theology at Livonia Ladywood High School and is a former police officer.