Joe Zambon
The faith and witness of my parents and maternal grandmother (Oma) played a huge part in my coming to know the mercy, love and friendship of Jesus. Growing up in a small town just outside of Ottawa Ontario and attending a small country parish, I never disliked going to Mass. In fact, I looked forward to it! My parents (I’m including my Oma in here because she was basically my second mom) did a really good job at living an integrated Christian life of prayer and action in the parish, home and community. My parents kept traditions in the home to help us follow the liturgical seasons and also to pray together. What I learned from my parents is that our faith is meant to permeate our whole life through, from bank account to calendar, from what is seen by others and what is seen by God only. My parents were not perfect, but for what they did pass on to me, I am grateful.
Though I never drifted away from Sunday church attendance my whole life, my elementary school days were not some of my best moments. I was immature, with a foul mouth and a big attitude. It was during a gym class that my 6th grade teacher pulled me aside from the group and looked me square in the eyes and told me “If you keep treating people the way you are treating them now, one day you’ll have no friends because no one will want to be around you.” His words cut straight to the heart because he was right. I was a jerk. In that moment I was able to see the true trajectory of my life in spite of the “Catholic” persona I thought I was projecting. By high school I really started to make steps towards working on who the man and friend I wanted to be.
A major barrier I felt I had to truly seeing and loving myself were my hands. I was born with webbed fingers on both hands and had surgery at an early age to separate them. Seeing the scars and knowing that this was an “abnormality” caused me a tremendous amount of shame. Even though I had a growing desire to play the piano and guitar, I couldn't bring myself to play in front of others for fear that someone would ask me what’s wrong with my hands. I remember praying, “Lord, why did you create me this way? Or did you just mis-create me?”
I really struggled to believe deep down that God truly loved me. I carried on in my shame and hiding until one day, when sitting down to write a song, I felt the Lord give me the words to say: “And I will let it go. And I won’t care to show. Who I am is who You love. And I am overjoyed.” Upon singing these words, I just began to weep. Not because I was sad, but because I believed it for the first time. I was loved. I was loveable and not a monster. I began to see how my hands were a gift and not a burden, and from there I began to see how every wound I had was a doorway into the wounds and heart of Christ. This then became a major theme for much of my songwriting.
Another encounter that deeply impacted the direction of my life happened on a retreat by a National Evangelization Team (NET) in Grade 11. I was completely impressed by my small group leader who embodied everything I was trying to be as a man: he was funny, strong, confident, patient, respectful, and he loved Jesus! I don’t remember much of what was said on that retreat, but I did know that I wanted to be like my small group leader!
To then follow in my small group leader’s footsteps, I applied to serve with NET Ministries for two years and it was through the NET community that I later found out about a Theology program in Ottawa. I then studied in Ottawa for 4 years until moving to Toronto to start working as a campus minister at York University. I was in Toronto for 8 years before falling in love and marrying an American gal and relocating to Dallas, Texas. What a journey!