Believe it or Not - The Trials of a Fallen (Yet Spiritual) Catholic

Sometimes, I really don't care where I'm from. This is where I am now.

There’s been a lot of controversy on Gather lately regarding religion, the sanctity of religion, satire and its place with respect to religion, respect of others’ religious beliefs, etc. Personally, I can’t speak for the people involved; I can only read what they write and ponder it. It’s my own personal choice not to comment, or to leave a comment if I feel the need.

What I don’t like to see, either here or anywhere else, is the sort of “lynch mob” mentality that takes over when a person or group feels threatened. You don’t only see it with regard to religion. Just three weeks ago, with the elections looming large, liberals and conservatives were slinging the mud just as furiously. You see it when some supposed hottie shows her half-naked butt to the world and leaves biting comments because others attack her. It is fear that drives the attacks; and for what? These are only the words and only thoughts, of people who may or may not agree with you. These are not bullets or cannons or bombs. They cannot hurt you unless you allow them to.

Many might call me a heathen; some might want to pray for me. Why? I choose not to go to church, or belong to organized religion. Yet I consider myself to be highly spiritual, in touch with what’s good in the universe and the good that’s inside of me. These are my trials as a fallen Catholic.

My mother was a very devout, Catholic convert. She converted from the Shinto religion when she came to the United States and because of my father, who was also Catholic. My father, far from devout, stopped going to church when he was old enough to smoke, drink and do what he wanted to-about age 12. It was much later, about 15 years ago that I learned his childhood parish priest was involved in the molestation of several boys, one in particular, of my uncle. I can see why going to church held very little value in my father’s mind.

In my youth, we all went to church, and I was enrolled in Catholic grade schools as well. In my middle school years, I started to question the rigidity of a church which was supposed to embrace all who came to its doors. You were supposed to be loving, yet nuns were slapping your knuckles with rulers or dragging you about by your ear lobes. In reality, Catholicism, as well as the other churches, does not embrace everyone. It doesn’t matter how good you are or what your intentions may be. If you are a homosexual, if you actively participate in any contraception besides the rhythm method, if you have sex before marriage, if you allow abortion, if you disagree with the politics of the priest, you are not welcome to worship here.

(I would like to interject at this point that it was while at Catholic grade school in the 1960s, I first learned – from my teachers – that the Bible was translated many times over the last 1,900 years, and that many of the translations were changed for political reasons, or translated “incorrectly” because of language differences. People who may want to dispute this point should look online for a minute or two. There are many online references to problems in translation of the Bible. In fact, we were told to get a certain version of the Bible, because it would be closer to the “Catholic” way of thinking.)

It was no surprise then, that during high school, I decided to see what other religions had to offer. My best friend and I spent our Sundays going to various services. This wasn’t so easy to do in a small town like Colorado Springs was in the early 1970s. We attended the Baptist, Episcopalian, Methodist and Jehovah Witness services. We read the works of Ram Dass, the Bahai holy texts and the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. (In fact, my friend ended up attending and graduating from the Maharishi International University.)

There were good things about many of these institutions, but the people there always gave you that nagging feeling that if I didn’t agree on one tenet, I would be rejected. And there was always something I didn’t agree with, or that didn’t sit right with me.

One of my friends was Baptist, and her mother held prayer groups where we were “prayed” over. As a typical sixteen year old, I didn’t feel like I was that close to damnation where I had to be “prayed” over. Overall, I was a pretty good kid. For example, I’d never been arrested. I didn’t even start experimenting sexually until I was 16, so I was indeed a late bloomer. My drug use was tame and limited. I was usually nice to people. I played guitar at church for mass, and did community service (before there was even a term for it) every Saturday by entertaining the elderly in rest homes. Yet, here was this middle-aged woman praying for me. There was something more than slightly annoying about having a person you barely knew praying for your soul without your consent.

When I was 18, I married for the first time. My soon-to-be husband was in the military, and because of our impetuous youth, we felt the ceremony had to be done right away. My mother felt it we had to be married in the Catholic Church. We were married in the chapel at Ft. Carson, after a whirlwind courtship and no premarital classes, which usually were prescribed by the church. Had we taken them, I might not have been married at all. Nine months later, we were divorced in the eyes of the law, but not in the eyes of the church.

Fast forward eight years; I wanted to marry again, and my fiancé was Catholic. His parents wanted us to marry in the church. We could only be married in the church if 1. I received an annulment, and 2. We took the premarital classes. We took the classes; but I found I could only get an annulment if I paid the Archdiocese of St. Paul $3,000. I had to fill out paperwork claiming abuse of some sort. This wasn’t true; in fact, my failed first marriage was because of poor timing and immaturity. In the eyes of the Church, that’s not a valid reason for an annulment, however; so I was encouraged to embellish my story for the Archbishop. In the midst of taking these classes, I found I truly loathed my fiancé; we broke up, thus saving me the expense of $3,000 to erase my first marriage in the eyes of God.

Since then, I’ve wised up. I’ve refused to actively participate in any church which will cleanse my soul and clear my marriage for mere monetary contributions. My husband, who was also baptized Catholic, and I married in the inter-denominational and welcoming Church of God, both of us having been married once before. He’s also not big on organized religion. However, the specter of being a fallen Catholic always looms large. There’s the guilt associated with not continuing familial tradition. Both of our children were baptized Catholic, mostly to appease the grandparents. However, I made up my mind that if my children wanted to continue receiving sacraments, it was totally up to them. (One did; the other didn’t.) Both children attended Catholic schools. For me, the intrinsic value of a Catholic school education far outweighs any disadvantages. Both of my children are free thinkers, and they know why they were in Catholic school. And yes, I support the school, not only with tuition but with my time.

We do not go to church in the traditional sense. I do not feel the need to openly show myself in a church setting. I celebrate my oneness with the universe in other ways. I believe in a higher power, a supreme being, but I don’t necessarily call him/her “God.” Unlike many Catholics I know, I don’t believe it is okay to commit sins during the week, and be absolved by confession on the weekend.

I do not believe in the Bible in the literal sense. Nor do I believe that the Koran, the Torah, the Vedas or other sacred texts should be taken literally. Because of this, yes, I do not believe in the literal translations of the virgin birth, Moses’ parting of the waters, and many other things which are depicted in the Bible. I respect others who believe, but I expect them to respect my beliefs as well. There are many worthwhile lessons to be taken from any sacred script, but my own interpretation has merit, too. What difference does the nitpicking make anyway, as long as the lessons learned are helping you to become a good person?

My heart has room in it for everything and every one. I do not care if you’re red, brown, yellow or purple; I don’t care if you’re flaming gay; if you’re a good person, there’s room in my world for you. Families do not have to have a man and woman heading it to be considered a family in my world. Abortion is a legal choice for a woman, and I’m not going to tell any woman she can’t have one, no matter what I believe. There is “good” and there is “evil”, and I think we can all figure out on our own which is which.

As for the place of satire with regard to religion, it may not be politically correct, and it may seem hurtful. My thought and hope is that any of it is not meant to be mean-spirited. Religious satire has happened before and will happen again. Only those who are not strong in their own beliefs will let it hurt them. Personally, I don't see satire as an affront to me, only as another view. Like everything I view on Gather and in life, I look at that view, and then I move on.