Raised Catholic, Trained in Science: What Still Grounds Me

Faith, Science, and the Mind: A Journey from Little Rome to the Lab

I was born and raised in Negombo, a coastal town in Sri Lanka often called “Little Rome” for its deep Catholic roots. Life there was centered around church bells, morning mass, feast processions, choir rehearsals, and evening rosaries. I went to a Catholic school and was part of the Sunday school and the youth society at the Grand Street church. My first 25 years were shaped by this rhythm. It wasn’t just religion; it was a way of being.

Now I look back after 23 more years. I’ve crossed continents, rebuilt during setbacks, and faced uncertainty and loss. Yet I still carry the same pulse within me. And I can say, without hesitation, that my Catholic upbringing gave me more than just beliefs. It gave me tools to survive.

When psychologists talk about resilience, they usually refer to the ability to adapt, recover, and keep going. I didn’t hear that word growing up. But I learned what it looked like through novenas during hard times, through prayers whispered in hospital rooms, through faith that things could get better even when there was no sign of it. Faith didn’t remove pain. It gave shape to it. It gave me a place to put it.

One of the most powerful things faith gave me was rhythm. Church life had its own seasons: Advent, Christmas, Lent, Holy Week, Easter. This gave time a kind of structure. Even as a child, I knew there were moments of fasting, of joy, of waiting, and of renewal. This structure mirrored the emotional cycles of real life. When psychologists say that routine supports mental health, I can only nod. We were already living by a rhythm that reminded us every year: darkness passes. Grief gives way to morning.

Catholic rituals train the mind in reflection. Not just during Lent or confession, but constantly. “Examine your conscience.” That phrase was repeated at school, in sermons, and in youth gatherings. This wasn’t self-blame. It was a habit of asking yourself, “How did I act today?” “Did I do harm?” “Did I avoid what I should have done?” That habit quietly builds self-awareness. When researchers talk about emotional regulation, journaling, or behavior patterns, I think about how we were doing this every evening before bed, whispering short prayers and retracing our steps.

Faith also built community. In Negombo, you didn’t just go to church; you belonged to it. If someone was sick, you knew. If a chil  d was in trouble, the parish aunties got involved. At Christmas, you sang in the choir or brought food for the poor. At funerals, you didn’t need an invitation. That kind of belonging has measurable effects on mental health. Studies link social connection to lower stress levels and better health. I never felt alone. Even now, far from Negombo, when I walk into a Catholic church, there’s a strange sense of home. The kneelers, the incense, and the hymns all remind me that I’m part of something much larger than myself.

Then there’s the power of repetition. Repeating prayers, lighting candles, walking the Way of the Cross. It may look old-fashioned, but those rituals help calm the nervous system. Science shows that repetition and rhythm, whether in breathing exercises, meditation, or movement, help regulate emotional stress. Faith was our version of that. We didn’t need apps or wellness retreats. We had rosaries.

Catholicism also taught me that suffering had meaning. That’s a hard lesson, and I wrestled with it. But the image of Christ on the cross was a constant reminder that pain wasn’t pointless. It could be carried with dignity. It could be shared. You could cry out and still trust. This didn’t cancel out the hurt. But it gave it a place within a larger story.

I’ve had long periods when I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. I questioned everything I grew up with. But even in those moments, the habits stayed with me. I still paused before meals. I still lit candles in silence. I still walked into churches in unfamiliar cities. Not because I felt pious, but because I needed the quiet.

When life unraveled, faith didn’t stop it from happening. But it helped me gather the pieces. It gave me stories where the broken were healed, the lost were found, and the dead lived again. It gave me permission to cry. It gave me language when I had none.

Some may say religion is a crutch. I say it was a bridge.

Looking back now, I see how Catholic life taught me patience. Not everything had to be fixed right away. You could sit with your sorrow. You could walk slowly. You could wait. In a world that rushes to medicate every ache, this is a rare skill.

And then there’s forgiveness. That wasn’t just a doctrine. It was a lifestyle. You had to forgive others. You had to ask for it too. That practice does something. It removes the buildup. It trains your heart to start again.

As a scientist, I’ve spent years reading, observing, and analyzing how people grow, adapt, and carry emotional weight. I’ve also had some experience offering guidance and support when others needed someone to talk to. And I keep coming back to this simple truth: faith, when practiced with love and humility, helps people cope better. It softens the edges of hard days. It makes room for hope when the facts seem cold. It gives a person something steady to hold.

Holy Week still brings it all back. The palms. The silence. The smell of rain on the church steps. The feeling of something deep happening, even if I couldn’t explain it. That feeling is still with me now, in a quieter way. I carry it into conversations, into quiet moments of reflection, into long walks where questions come and answers wait. And sometimes, when someone says, “I don’t know how to keep going,” I don’t have to say much. I just sit with them.

Faith doesn’t always give answers. But it keeps you company. And sometimes, that’s what matters most.

That’s what Catholicism gave me. That’s what Negombo gave me. That’s what the Grand Street church planted in me all those years ago.

And it’s still bearing fruit.


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I wrote this article in honor of the 150th Jubilee of the Grand Street Church in Negombo, celebrated in 2024. This is the first season of Lent after that milestone, and Holy Week begins today

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