Rediscovering My Polish Roots: Grounded in Family and Tradition
By Paul Jarzembowski
On every visit to my grandparents’ home as a child, about an hour before we would sit down for dinner, I would spy my grandpa flipping through a stack of holy cards. That bundle, frayed at the edges, slightly fading, and bound tightly with a used rubber band, were the funeral cards of his friends and family members.
I’m not sure if he noticed me as I peered into this inner sanctum, but the image of my Polish grandpa silently praying in the privacy of his home has colored my own approach to the Catholic faith.
For years, I took for granted Polish traditions like this since I was immersed in the Polish American enclaves of northwest Indiana and the greater Chicagoland area. My worldview was punctuated by other seemingly “normal” experiences—like getting our Easter baskets blessed on Holy Saturday, breaking opłatki (wafers) with my family on Christmas Day, wearing red on Saint Joseph’s Day, doing the obligatory polka dances at family members’ weddings, and devouring my fill of pączki (jelly-filled donuts) on the day before Ash Wednesday. Added to this, these traditions were infused within our everyday lives. They were as common to me as going to the movies or grocery shopping.
During the first Lent after I moved to Washington, DC, my cultural heritage became more evident to me. I was surprised to learn that not every church held a Holy Saturday basket blessing (in the Chicago area, this is more commonplace). By being taken out of my local context, I could see just how richly blessed I truly was regarding my Polish roots.
A few years later, when Pope Francis announced that the 2016 World Youth Day would be held in Kraków, Poland, I was elated. Part of my work for the U.S. bishops involves doing advance site visits to WYD host cities—so heading to Kraków on several occasions was a chance for me to dig a little deeper into my Eastern European ancestry.
Once again, what surprised me was how many of my personal preferences (especially related to food) are rooted in Polish culture. I knew that Polish sausage and pierogis were part of that heritage, but I soon learned that my appreciation of fish, pickles, and soup was also integrated into my cultural DNA. By just walking around a city like Kraków, I came to discover the rich and resilient Catholic history that grounded my family’s story. Ours was a national culture that endured conquest, persecution, and the very loss of our country’s identity (from 1795 to 1918, and to some extent, from 1939 to 1990).
These cultural traits, I came to learn, rooted my Catholic family and continue to ground me today. It took moving from Chicago to Washington and a global pilgrimage to Poland to awaken that awareness. After all these years, I feel I am truly living into my grandpa’s legacy.
One simple prayer practice that I adopted in recent years is the very one I spied in my childhood. I now carry around my grandpa’s military missal from World War II and within it, some of his holy cards (and a few of my own). This is how I pray today, holding onto the same devotional pieces he once held.
Beyond this, my Polish Catholic heritage has renewed in me a sense of resilience and hard work, a confident faith-focused personal identity, a gratitude for other cultures’ unique traditions and rich customs, and a radical compassion for the suffering and marginalized. I hope grandpa would be proud.
Download this article as a PDF here.
Paul Jarzembowski is assistant director for youth and young adult ministry at the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops.
Based on Your Reading
 | | | |
| Forming Saints in China by Katie Prejean McGrady | Faith in Haiti by Fr. Louis Merosne | The Saints are Good Company by Jen Norton | My Friendship with St. Oscar Romero by Vanesa Zuleta-Goldberg |