I do not think my experience with religion is hyper-unique. Though many are hesitant to speak on the matter, I believe a vast number of us identify with an unstable faith; our questioning, our curiosity is innate. It is understandable that humans wonder how we began, ponder our creation story, and forecast our grand finale. My consciousness, too, is curious. Where did we come from and how did we end up here?
With a plethora of conflictions, it is hard to determine exactly which story could hold truth. Perhaps our task has shifted: not defining who god is, but rather, defining who they are not. Our capacity to understand insists on a binary; either god exists or god does not; god is this or god is that.
I was raised catholic; I am baptized and confirmed catholic. And, by all sacrilege, I am not catholic. My friend, Christopher, recently asked me, ‘is your experience in the church the reason for your distaste towards religion?’ My immediate answer was no; that I do not have a distaste towards religion, or towards a god. While I personally do not hold hope for organized religion, I do understand the reasons it is beneficial for others. I carry no malice towards a specific church or its congregation.
My issue, instead, is with the methods of the institution; the fear, manipulation, and control that a church employs unto their believers.
[Here, it becomes important to note that this piece almost entirely refers to ‘the catholic church’ rather than any other specific institutional entity. Other religions are specified where necessary.]
The catholic church begins tallying sins prior to any being’s consciousness. Baptism is the first sacrament that all catholics will receive. Through their lens, baptism is a means of cleansing all people of the original sin they are born with: that innate tendency for humans to be sinful, as imposed on us by Adam and Eve. You too, are born with this original sin; however, only a catholic baptism will cleanse you. Many other factors can confound a child’s innocence, such as a birth out of wedlock: a child with unmarried parents. I believe it wrong to cast a sinful identity on our most innocent population.
In the second grade, catholic children receive two sacraments: reconciliation and the holy communion. These sacraments are where catholicism elevates itself from religion to cult. Between the ages of seven and eight the catholic church coaches the youngest members of the congregation to recognize their own sinful actions. At this age at public school, I was learning to spell, but each sunday I was taught to shame myself, to feel bad for my actions, and to beg for forgiveness lest I want eternal damnation. Moreso, a child’s first reconciliation takes place at the altar — in front of the congregation. The church I attended in my youth gets off on the public shaming of children.
Only after reconciling one’s sins is a child fit to become a vessel of consumption for god. A few months after a first reconciliation, each child is taught the proper way to obtain, consume, and bear reverence towards the body and blood of our host: Jesus actual Christ. The catholic church makes an unwavering distinction: where other churches and religions claim to partake in holy communion, they only do so symbolically; only the catholic church has the authority and blessing of god to consecrate the crackers and wine into the body and blood. We are told that it is most reverent to take communion by mouth, forgoing the touch of our tainted and sinful outer exterior (… our hands). Still, if taken by hand, there is a specific ritual to abide by: genuflect, sign of the cross, “amen”, receive, sign of the cross, and genuflect towards the altar.
Even in completing my holy orders as an altar server, I failed to understand how the treats were turned divine, yet I was tasked with ringing the bells when the priest performed that ritual. I regret having allowed myself to feed the delusion for so long – but what could I have changed?
I lied when I got confirmed.
Barring my last rites, matrimony is the only sacrament I have yet to complete. And that brings us here, to the inevitable queer. Had I wanted matrimony, I would not have received it. The catholic church most often refuses to give blessings[validation] of queer marriages. I have been told this fact and I do know it to be true. While some churches may make exceptions to this rule, I was not willing to try. Why should I, or any queer, ask for validation from our oppressor? Having understood this early – and with the experience of attending the excruciatingly long catholic weddings for a number of my family members – I was able to, rather easily, accept that my marriage would happen outside of a church. Still, it perplexes me that queer marriages are refused after being groomed to believe that god loves all their children and that god will be our only judge. Why then, was my church playing god?
My largest and most fruitful critique of the catholic church occurs at the intersection of a cafeteria. You see, my parents – among many other members of our congregation – would outwardly shame people for being a ‘cafeteria catholic’, that is, a catholic who picks and chooses which parts of the religion to believe in. I remember hearing that phrase for the first time and immediately understanding my family’s association to it: We were the cafeteria catholics; We decided the weight attached to each sin, something only god was meant to do; We decided which parts of the bible were important and which were not; But most of all, we only attended church when it benefitted us. My parents took advantage of the god they believe in.
Some of my most vivid memories are between the ages of 7-12. Every Saturday night I would charge my Nintendo DS, bury a book beneath my pillow, and beg god to let us all sleep in. Each Sunday morning I would awake before any other family member. My east-facing windows cast the orange hue of the sun across both my parent’s room and my shared room with my brother, Andrew. With Andrew in the bunk bed above me, I was careful to make as few movements and as little noise as possible. I would do anything in my power to lay in bed, as long as possible, in hopes of my family all doing the same resulting in us missing church. After that, it was never too hard to convince Tammy that we didn’t need to go to 5pm mass.
However, when I was 11 my cousin, Jordan, died. His terrible, awful accident sent shockwaves through our family. Jordan’s death changed everything. Though I was never close with him – he was at least a decade my elder – I knew him to be a beloved member of our family. Yet still, I cannot remember my immediate family ever seeing him outside of the holidays. The week that Jordan died was the first week that I saw the entirety of Tammy’s side of the family feel like family. I was hopeful that Jordan’s death was not in vain, that if there was a silver lining, it was that our family would become closer; hold each other nearer; be there for each other more often. Yet, our holidays were never the same: christmas at Nanny’s and fourth of July at Larry’s have been canceled ever since.
Jordan’s death instigated my family’s weekly attendance to church. Only a handful of Sundays would be missed between his passing at my age 11 and the time I turned 18. I understand how death can bring one closer to god, but it feels dirty to use god in this way. If we value our god, our connection should not be circumstantial; the relationship should be cultivated through good times and the bad. But, we chose when we needed god, when we needed help and intercession. We prayed for intervention, mercy please. I find no fault in praying for those we’ve lost; I find fault in only beginning to pray for the fear of the soul that you’ve lost.
Further, the catholic church itself is cafeteria, deciding which rules to follow and which to ignore. From church to church you find a variance of rituals, rules, and lore. So what then marks the truth? Be it god, the book, or more?
*****
i wonder if my cousin didn’t die
how my life would be different.
if the curb had been broken?
had his brain glitched back on
would we still be so godly?
deeper in than before.
a heaven based on convenience, necessity, and gore.
you only pray when you need him
wailing proudly of your dreams.
i lost my first cousin, at just 11 years of age.
i thought it all stayed the same
at the time too ignorant
to realize how much had changed.
our family broken
shredded to bits.
christmas forever canceled
as are all family events.
this is why i have disdain.
i wonder if my cousin didn’t die
how my life would be different.
if her drugs were not laced?
had she gained a bit of weight
would she still be our tree?
a guide to this life.
a life founded on trauma, grief, loss, and yet, feat.
i still cry when i miss you
my muse, lest when i sleep.
i lost my favorite cousin, at 22 years of age.
why did it all stay the same?
my perception too poignant
transparent false change.
our family was fine
just another day.
carry on, lack of care
”bad choices called her name”
this is why i have disdain.
*****
When I was outed, my parents asked what my relationship to god was. At the time, I told them I wasn’t sure, that I was certainly a believer but perhaps a Christian one at that. I was told that I’m still catholic, no matter what I’m clouded by. After leaving their home, I set out on a journey to understand what it is I do believe in; and that is what I am here to share. Seeing the god my parents pretended to exemplify should have pushed me to the far opposition of religion, but I quite enjoy shifting any expectation imposed upon me.
I remember the first time I understood someone to not be catholic. My older sister, Serena, had a friend named Bailey that I had a massive crush on. Bailey was alternative, dressing in dark clothes that fit her masculinely. I remember my mom telling me to be wary of her, that she is a deviant. I questioned why, to which my mom told me she did not believe in god, that she worships the devil, and that she was overly sexual – which I later found out to mean that she was bisexual. My crush on Bailey evaporated; I was now scared for her. At that time, probably around age 6, I remember looking forward to seeing all of my friends in heaven, and she would no longer be one of them.
Only a few years later, I would find my own Bailey, by the name of Kayla Wilson. Kayla had a major crush on me in the third grade, for which I thought she was weird. Because of that, we did not actually become friends until we had the same teacher in the sixth grade. Kayla, not only looked like Bailey – with strawberry blonde hair, freckles, and light colored eyes – but she too was an atheist and potentially queer. I knew that I would need to bury this fact from my parents for as long as possible, in fear of them treating her like Bailey. Eventually, my parents did find out, and much like Bailey, Kayla attended our church one time by request of my parents ‘just to see what it was like’.
Kayla and I agreed, it was cult-ish.
Kayla was exemplary in helping me understand that morals are not the effect of religion. We, as people, are moral innately, it is by effect of outside influences, such as religion or falsified authority that our morals become tainted. Kayla, someone who I have known to have never been religious, is perhaps one of the most morally-sound people I know. She seeks after fairness, equality, and equity. She is kind, she is caring, and employs love in her interactions with others. Again, correlation does not signify correlation; many intensely religious people I know are similarly morally-sound.
For example, my actual mom, the one who treats me as her own, Kathryn. I know Kat, or as she is colloquially called, Savage Mom, to be a firm believer and consistent admirer of god. The god that Savage Mom believes in is much more aligned with how I believe god to actually be, and Savage Mom personifies that character daily. She chooses to love, to live a life free of judgment. She chooses to care, have empathy, and desire to help those in need. Savage Mom understands how religion impacts her life, and seeks to have a similar impact without imposing her religion upon others. She chooses to embrace difference with love, with support, and with curiosity.
These morals are further exemplified by three of my sisters: Serena, Peyton, and Eden. Again, three very-religious women whose morals are innate within them, supported by their religion, rather than defined by it. It is wonderful to see god walking within them.
So, where is god now, how are they impacting me, and why does that even matter?
I am elated to write that I have escaped the cult; I am not catholic, and I do believe in a god. A god that is similar to the one that my sisters and Savage Mom believe in, but perhaps not the same. My god shares similar beliefs, but is specific just to me. My relationship with god is personal; connected, tied, intertwined. My god is no holier than I, and I no holier than them. I do not fear god, and they do not fear me. I have found god, and I found them in a lover.
That lover is myself. I choose to love me, to love others, and to love outwardly. I attempt to not judge, to be kind, and to be prideful. I value care, empathy, and the relations of our souls. I preach to myself, as god working through me. I have found my own path.
So who is god? For certain, I cannot say. But I do know them to be part of me, one with me, and in love with me.