One morning in March this year, I chanced upon a half-open door in South Street, Valletta. I find doors ajar impossible to resist: this one belonged to St Andrew’s Scots Church, a wonderful neo-gothic building on the corner with Old Bakery Street. As is the case with so many of Valletta’s firmly forbidden (and foreboding) buildings, I had never been inside. So I decided to walk in and have a look.

I felt instantly welcome in a way I don’t always when visiting one of my ‘own’ churches.  I wondered: was it the wood panelling? Or the mid-morning sun radiating through the stained glass windows?

Perhaps it was the feeling of anonymity that only kindly strangers can provide – those non-judgemental expat faces you tend to come across on Malta and Gozo. Here were people who didn’t know anything about me or what I believed, offering me tea and biscuits on a Friday morning, no questions asked.

I declined the offer but resolved to return. Which I did, the following Sunday, and the one after that. I’d still be going there if Sunday were not my day of rest – from Valletta at any rate.

If comparisons are odious, comparing religions or Churches is often tasteless and tactless. And yet I must come clean and say that I did feel a wonderful sense of community, diversity and Christian fellowship in this church. Something was alive, something tangibly missing from all my other church experiences.

Perhaps this had something to do with the minister happening to be married and female, and one of my visits coinciding with Mothering Sunday. This made her all the more accessible and authentic. There was nothing preachy, abstract or obtuse about the sermon she delivered. It was intelligent, engaging and worldly, and highlighted the essential difference between going through the motions and bringing something to life.

I noticed that my son, who until then was wearing the bored face he usually reserves for ‘church’, was having a hard time pretending he was not enjoying himself. We both were.

I raved about this church for weeks after and even brought it up with a couple of Catholic priests. Both were aware of the growing problem of church attendance and genuinely wanted to know what had drawn me – a lazy, lapsed Catholic – to that particu­lar church. Others were less amused, seeing my visit to a Protestant church as a betrayal of my Catholicism. This was something that had never occurred to me.

The minute someone tries to suggest that my religious ‘roaming’ is unacceptable, then, to me at least, that person has not understood what faith and religion are really about

You see, I view my religion in much the same way as I view my country of birth. I have no wish to change it, although I am not averse to exploring other denominations and destinations. And ultimately, however much I may be critical of my world, it’s a default mode, and I always come full-circle. That’s because ‘home’ is indeed home, even though that place can sometimes be uncomfortable and frustrating. But the minute someone tries to suggest that my religious ‘roaming’ is unacceptable, then, to me at least, that person has not understood what faith and religion are really about.

You shouldn’t have to pigeonhole your beliefs or box them away from everyone else’s. Why can’t a Roman Catholic pray inside a Methodist church, if it’s open to all-comers? A religion should never demand exclusivity or make you feel unwelcome. Although I suppose it’s never the religion that is to blame, but those who choose to misinterpret it. There’s no point in preaching tolerance when there is still the implication that what is tolera­ted is inferior and, ultimately, heretical.

If people thought of religion like one huge buffet, world peace would be easier to achieve. We don’t all queue for the same piece of meat. Some pass on the pork while others go for it. But it’s food. I’ve never heard of anyone protesting about the opening of a Turkish doner kebab restaurant or ‘Chinese’ purely on culinary grounds. The same goes for spiri­tual nourishment. If only we could be as open-minded when it comes to religious worship and denominations.

You may be wondering whether there’s some subliminal Christmas message here. I suppose writing on Christmas Day is a little bit harder than writing on any other day because it’s the one day you have to ‘tone it down’ and be numinous. Although it’s probably the only day you can say whatever you like because no one’s reading. But there’s another reason, and it concerns the umbrage taken following the recent decision that could see non-Catholic teaching staff teach at Church schools.

I’ll concede that a professed Catholic teacher is the safer bet but he/she is not necessarily uniquely qualified or the best person for the job. And there’s the further point that religion could be taught more broadly anyway.

I therefore see no reason why a brilliant and kindly Hindu/atheist teacher of mathematics shouldn’t be appointed to a Church school (salary paid by the State anyway) if he/she is best qualified to deliver in the classroom. Better such a person than a mediocre bigot.

The ideal teacher should possess professional integrity, kindness, patience, and of course, academic qualifications. That person – it goes without saying – should also demonstrate respect for the ethos of the school. Incidentally, a teacher’s religious inclinations never cropped up in any of the Church schools I attended.

Neither would I worry about the prosely­tising effect, if any, of that Hindu/atheist teacher let loose on Catholic students. Perhaps it’s because to my mind, religion, like money, is personal. It’s not there to flash around or shove down anybody’s throat. Neither does it define someone on a first meeting. Quite frankly, religion doesn’t even cross my mind.

Perhaps my Nativity ‘message’ hasn’t been so subliminal. Goodwill to All Men, after all, has suggested itself. It is also an opportunity to wish all readers a Happy Christmas.

michelaspiteri@gmail.com