I will never be free from the Catholic Church: a memoir
Sept 9, 2018 20:36:48 GMT -6
anirbas likes this
Post by Deleted on Sept 9, 2018 20:36:48 GMT -6
I will never be free from its clutches.
When I was a toddler, I didn't know what it meant
Aside from being held up in my father's arms
falling asleep with my head on his shoulder
closing my eyes, burying my face into his shirt
as defense against the staring eyes
of people who sat in pews behind us.
When I was a kid, I knew I didn't like it
it was boring and dull, with nothing to do
but to fold my hands and pretend Jesus was inside them
as the adults around me remained proper and disciplined.
As I got older, I tried to become them
Ordered and disciplined, perfect and saintly.
By then I understood that if I didn't do as I was told,
I would get into Hell, and God would punish me.
For even though God loves us all,
He also must punish us when we follow wrong paths.
I knew it then in the back of my mind,
that this was a horrible vision of "Love" to teach,
but I followed the rules as best as I could,
so that I would avoid the flames.
At twelve years old, I followed the Cross
Prayed every day, both morning and night
Every prayer that I possibly knew,
kept in a booklet labeled "Daily Prayers."
If I didn't finish them all before school,
I had to finish them on the bus instead,
and then before class,
and then whenever I could.
I sought out religious guidance from my mom;
How often should you pray the Rosary?
"Oh!" she said, eager, an expert on the subject
"At least once a day! Maybe even more!"
My blood turned cold as I heard those words.
I hadn't been praying nearly enough!
my poor tired brain exclaimed.
I must pray more, and harder! I thought.
And so the true madness began.
Not only did I do every prayer each day,
frantically, desperately trying to make each word count;
I aimed to pray the entire Rosary each and every day!
That kind of feat for a busy young schoolgoer
is bound to become a mess.
So I tired myself out praying every day,
repeating each prayer until I got it "genuine enough"
(because if you don't pray hard enough then God will ignore it)
staying up late at night just to finish my prayers,
falling asleep in my designated holy space underneath my bed,
having drifted off in the middle of a prayer;
And when I awoke, I knew I hadn't finished
Tried to finish before school
Tried to finish on the bus
Not good enough! Not genuine! Getting lazy! Try again!
Couldn't finish it in class
Couldn't finish it at home
Couldn't finish
Couldn't finish
Couldn't finish
And I realized I couldn't do it anymore.
So gradually, I stopped praying.
No more Rosary every day.
No more Act of Contrition every night.
No more Hail Mary after Hail Mary of "Try again; not good enough."
Relief.
The guilt was there as I went through the motions
Still forced to go through Catechism after school,
Still forced to go to Church every Sunday,
Couldn't back out as I was forced through Confirmation.
I worried that the priest would see the lies on my face
as I sat down for the interview with Father Joe,
one of the very last steps before becoming Confirmed.
But he didn't seem to notice
or he didn't seem to care
because I made it to the altar with my other classmates there.
"Do you whatever? Renounce Satan, yaddah blah?"
"I do." I guess. If he even exists.
"Do you blahdiddy blah, be a Catholic if it kills you?"
"I do" I don't.
"Do you believe-"
HELL NO. "I do."
And then it was done, no more preparation
Thirteen, and yet, an adult in the Church
So why didn't I feel I had any power?
In truth, I simply didn't.
Even once I was confirmed, I still had to go.
Couldn't just stop; it was against The Law.
The law of the household, to never leave
Never, ever, leave the Church.
. . .
When I was fifteen, I renounced the Church
I finally got the guts
Went down to my mom, at work at her desk
as she wrote about her visions
interrupting her work
"Mom" ... I was nervous.
It was like I was coming out of the closet.
"I... don't want to go to Church anymore."
The look on her face was like she'd seen a ghost.
"You WHAT?" her eyes told me.
"I don't believe in God. I won't go to Church."
The look on her face was shock mixed with fury.
Fury at the Devil for leading me astray!
"You will go to Church.
Until you're eighteen.
A legal adult."
I didn't think she could.
But I looked it up, and with dismay, I saw
She legally
could force me
to follow
her religion
until
I was legally
an adult.
Bullshit! I exclaimed, in my dark, confined head.
I can't believe they can do this!
Don't I have a right to free religion,
as any human being?
Why is this reserved only for adults?!
How come I'm considered an adult in the Church
yet I have to legally be an adult to escape it?
What's the point of confirmation
if you're forced into it
and even once it's done
you still have absolutely no power
over your own
fucking
destiny?
But I dealt with it.
Fine.
Be that way.
You'll never change my mind by forcing me to go here.
You'll only raise my contempt
for your stupid
fucking
system.
Congratulations, assholes.
And now, finally, I am an adult.
I make my own decisions, fair and square!
I made it clear on my birthday that I would never go again.
Aside from Christmas and Easter - where I get paid to play my instrument
They will not force me to go anywhere.
And yet.
Even now.
This is not the case.
Vacations are planned with church in mind.
Sunday is always planned.
I am not allowed to stay behind,
for we go somewhere else right afterward.
And my mom,
oh, she
She still tells me about her visions
Father's sermons
And my dad still enforces the Law of the Church
Grace before Meals; Stand for the Flag
Always
Stand
The dining room's littered with pictures of Jesus
There's an angel on every corner of every car
Every room has at least one cross
And prayer booklets in the bathrooms.
I will never be free from the clutches of the Church
even after I'm old enough to think on my own,
even after I'm allowed to make my own decisions,
even after I move out of this God damned house,
I will never be free from the Catholic Church.
When I was a toddler, I didn't know what it meant
Aside from being held up in my father's arms
falling asleep with my head on his shoulder
closing my eyes, burying my face into his shirt
as defense against the staring eyes
of people who sat in pews behind us.
When I was a kid, I knew I didn't like it
it was boring and dull, with nothing to do
but to fold my hands and pretend Jesus was inside them
as the adults around me remained proper and disciplined.
As I got older, I tried to become them
Ordered and disciplined, perfect and saintly.
By then I understood that if I didn't do as I was told,
I would get into Hell, and God would punish me.
For even though God loves us all,
He also must punish us when we follow wrong paths.
I knew it then in the back of my mind,
that this was a horrible vision of "Love" to teach,
but I followed the rules as best as I could,
so that I would avoid the flames.
At twelve years old, I followed the Cross
Prayed every day, both morning and night
Every prayer that I possibly knew,
kept in a booklet labeled "Daily Prayers."
If I didn't finish them all before school,
I had to finish them on the bus instead,
and then before class,
and then whenever I could.
I sought out religious guidance from my mom;
How often should you pray the Rosary?
"Oh!" she said, eager, an expert on the subject
"At least once a day! Maybe even more!"
My blood turned cold as I heard those words.
I hadn't been praying nearly enough!
my poor tired brain exclaimed.
I must pray more, and harder! I thought.
And so the true madness began.
Not only did I do every prayer each day,
frantically, desperately trying to make each word count;
I aimed to pray the entire Rosary each and every day!
That kind of feat for a busy young schoolgoer
is bound to become a mess.
So I tired myself out praying every day,
repeating each prayer until I got it "genuine enough"
(because if you don't pray hard enough then God will ignore it)
staying up late at night just to finish my prayers,
falling asleep in my designated holy space underneath my bed,
having drifted off in the middle of a prayer;
And when I awoke, I knew I hadn't finished
Tried to finish before school
Tried to finish on the bus
Not good enough! Not genuine! Getting lazy! Try again!
Couldn't finish it in class
Couldn't finish it at home
Couldn't finish
Couldn't finish
Couldn't finish
And I realized I couldn't do it anymore.
So gradually, I stopped praying.
No more Rosary every day.
No more Act of Contrition every night.
No more Hail Mary after Hail Mary of "Try again; not good enough."
Relief.
The guilt was there as I went through the motions
Still forced to go through Catechism after school,
Still forced to go to Church every Sunday,
Couldn't back out as I was forced through Confirmation.
I worried that the priest would see the lies on my face
as I sat down for the interview with Father Joe,
one of the very last steps before becoming Confirmed.
But he didn't seem to notice
or he didn't seem to care
because I made it to the altar with my other classmates there.
"Do you whatever? Renounce Satan, yaddah blah?"
"I do." I guess. If he even exists.
"Do you blahdiddy blah, be a Catholic if it kills you?"
"I do" I don't.
"Do you believe-"
HELL NO. "I do."
And then it was done, no more preparation
Thirteen, and yet, an adult in the Church
So why didn't I feel I had any power?
In truth, I simply didn't.
Even once I was confirmed, I still had to go.
Couldn't just stop; it was against The Law.
The law of the household, to never leave
Never, ever, leave the Church.
. . .
When I was fifteen, I renounced the Church
I finally got the guts
Went down to my mom, at work at her desk
as she wrote about her visions
interrupting her work
"Mom" ... I was nervous.
It was like I was coming out of the closet.
"I... don't want to go to Church anymore."
The look on her face was like she'd seen a ghost.
"You WHAT?" her eyes told me.
"I don't believe in God. I won't go to Church."
The look on her face was shock mixed with fury.
Fury at the Devil for leading me astray!
"You will go to Church.
Until you're eighteen.
A legal adult."
I didn't think she could.
But I looked it up, and with dismay, I saw
She legally
could force me
to follow
her religion
until
I was legally
an adult.
Bullshit! I exclaimed, in my dark, confined head.
I can't believe they can do this!
Don't I have a right to free religion,
as any human being?
Why is this reserved only for adults?!
How come I'm considered an adult in the Church
yet I have to legally be an adult to escape it?
What's the point of confirmation
if you're forced into it
and even once it's done
you still have absolutely no power
over your own
fucking
destiny?
But I dealt with it.
Fine.
Be that way.
You'll never change my mind by forcing me to go here.
You'll only raise my contempt
for your stupid
fucking
system.
Congratulations, assholes.
And now, finally, I am an adult.
I make my own decisions, fair and square!
I made it clear on my birthday that I would never go again.
Aside from Christmas and Easter - where I get paid to play my instrument
They will not force me to go anywhere.
And yet.
Even now.
This is not the case.
Vacations are planned with church in mind.
Sunday is always planned.
I am not allowed to stay behind,
for we go somewhere else right afterward.
And my mom,
oh, she
She still tells me about her visions
Father's sermons
And my dad still enforces the Law of the Church
Grace before Meals; Stand for the Flag
Always
Stand
The dining room's littered with pictures of Jesus
There's an angel on every corner of every car
Every room has at least one cross
And prayer booklets in the bathrooms.
I will never be free from the clutches of the Church
even after I'm old enough to think on my own,
even after I'm allowed to make my own decisions,
even after I move out of this God damned house,
I will never be free from the Catholic Church.
