Is My Faith Still Mine If I Can’t Remember It?

At one time, I was a chemist because I studied, practiced, and understood chemistry. My identity as a chemist was rooted in my knowledge and ability to apply it. However, after a decade as a priest, my son recently asked me a chemistry question, and I realized I no longer knew the answer. Does that mean I am no longer a chemist? In one sense, my expertise has faded, and I no longer actively engage in the discipline. But in another sense, my past training and experiences as a chemist are still part of my story, even if they are not at the forefront of my mind. This raises a deeper question—if forgetting something means losing that identity, what does that say about our faith? If I forget parts of my theology or can no longer recall scripture, does that mean my faith is no longer mine?

I may no longer practice chemistry, and my conversation with my son about quantum dots makes it clear that I probably shouldn’t teach it. Yet, chemistry has still left a lasting impression on me. I can still recognize an aldehyde, amine, or ketone, and when I see certain letters, I instinctively think of the elements they represent—K for potassium, O for oxygen, F for fluorine. Chemistry is not just part of my past; it has shaped how I see the world and remains a part of me.

Faith leaves a similar deep and lasting imprint on us, even when we can no longer recall its details. I have been with people who struggle to remember much about their faith, yet instinctively make the sign of the cross upon hearing, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” I once prayed the last rites over a woman on her deathbed who had not spoken in days and was barely breathing. And, as I began to recite the Lord’s Prayer aloud, she suddenly responded with a clear and affirming voice, repeatedly saying, “Yes, yes, yes!” Each yes grew louder until I finally said Amen. Then, just as quickly, she fell silent again, her breathing once more shallow. In that moment, it was clear—faith is not merely something we remember; it is something that is a part us. In these moments we are reminded that faith remains our own, sustained by God’s presence, even when words and memory fade.

This impression faith leaves on us is because of the relationship we have with God. Faith is about living with and learning from God who desires to communion with us. God doesn’t simply want to be known, we wants to relate and be with us.

“In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God and the Word was God. . . And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us; and we have seen his glory, the glory of the only Son of the Father: fullness of truth and loving-kindness.” — John 1:1, 14

My relationship with my father has changed over the years. As a child, I relied on his strength, looked to his guidance, and solved problems with his support. He taught me many things, but as I grew older my needs shifted. I no longer sought his help in the same way, and much of what he once taught me has faded from memory—I can’t recall all his advice or the exact words he spoke. Yet, through it all, I have never stopped being his son. Our relationship has never been defined by a single moment or a handful of memories, but by a lifetime of presence, love, and shared life. In the same way, our relationship with God is not dependent on what we can remember but on a lifetime of receiving His abiding love. Memory loss does not erase that relationship; it simply changes how we experience it and our needs from it. No matter what fades from our minds, the truth remains—we are still God’s children, sons and daughters.

Some things inevitably slip through our fingers—memories fade, moments pass, and we find ourselves grasping at what we can no longer hold. But our hands were never meant to carry everything. God, however, is different. His hands are vast enough and strong enough to hold it all. I remember growing up singing, “He’s got the whole world in His hands,” and I still believe that is true. In fact, Jesus promised that he will never let us go.

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them; they follow me, and I give them eternal life. They shall never perish, and no one will ever steal them from me.” — John 10:27-28

Nothing slips through God’s fingers. Our faith is not dependent on memory, nor does it require perfect understanding—only His voice calling and our hearts responding. This is what makes the relationship ours, and makes our faith unique. Even as our needs shift, our fears rise, or our memories fade, nothing—not loss, not change, not time itself—can steal us from the safety of God’s loving embrace.

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers,  nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” — Romans 8:38-39

Ultimately the work of faith that leads to salvation is not achieved by our own strength, but rather it is God’s work in us. Only now as a parent have I come to realize just how much my parents did for me. A lot of our success as children was achieved by the tirelessly effort of our parents behind the scenes. Gratitude really is the only authentic prayer we can offer to a God who tirelessly does the same for us.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” — Ephesians 2:8-9

Our faith does not depend on our ability, but on God’s unwavering grace. Even if our minds fail and we can no longer consciously recall the details of our faith, His grace remains sufficient. Just as a seed continues to grow beneath the soil, unseen but alive, God’s work in us endures, sustained not by our memory but by His everlasting faithfulness.

Caring for a loved one with memory loss is a journey filled with both heartache and love, but take comfort in this truth: God dwells with us. Even as memories fade and words become harder to find, faith is not lost, because faith is ultimately God’s work, not ours. Your loved one is still held in the embrace of the One who never lets go. Their prayers, though unspoken, still reach God’s heart. Their faith, though no longer recalled in detail, is still alive in the depths of their soul. Even when they can no longer say His name, He knows theirs, and God will never forget.

God Remembers

When memories fade

like autumn leaves,

And names slip softly from the mind,

God still remembers, always sees,

His love unshaken, true, and kind.

When prayers once spoken

fall to hush,

And hands forget

what they have known,

God’s gentle whisper still is heard,

You are My child, My very own.

So do not fear when time rewrites

The stories etched upon our past,

For faith’s not held in thoughts alone—

God holds it firm, and steadfast.

---

What Happens Next? Faith When You Can’t Remember is a blog series exploring the profound intersection of faith and memory loss, offering hope and reassurance for those experiencing cognitive decline and their loved ones. Each post delves into the unshakable truth that faith is not merely a product of our minds but is deeply rooted in God’s love and grace. Through biblical reflection, personal stories, and practical encouragement, this series reminds us that even when memories fade, God’s promises remain steadfast, and our faith is held securely in His hands.