A Rant About Organized Religion

Wasn't Jesus all about love and kindness and acceptance?

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I grew up in the arms of Catholicism. St. Michaels school was my second home from first through eighth grade. I felt loved and accepted there, and I know my overworked mom was grateful for the care the nuns and lay teachers gave me.

At dismissal time, I vividly remember there were “walkers and riders,” a “first bus,” and a “second bus.” The first bus kids left first, then the walkers and riders were released to either begin their journey home or jump into a waiting car. I was a walker, but I was allowed to stay with the second bus kids. We’d play kickball and foursquare and double dutch while the first bus made its rounds and came back to pick up the second bus kids. Once the second bus left, I walked home alone. But I know my mom was grateful that I was supervised and safe for an extra couple of hours after school.

Although I faithfully attended church, I was always a little skeptical of its teachings. I asked too many questions and was often hushed by the nuns. Many times I was told that I was a Doubting Thomas who “just had to believe.”

The breakdown of my belief began early, though, when a classmate said to me, “My mom says that your mom shouldn’t be receiving Communion because she’s divorced. That’s a sin.” Fiercely defensive of my mom, I’m sure I threw some angry words back at her. But her accusation stuck. Why should my mom be punished because my dad chose to leave? It didn’t seem fair and it didn’t make sense, and that was the first time I realized that I didn’t buy what the nuns were selling.

My mom was a good person. A true person. A hilariously funny human with a heart of gold. She worked hard, was loved by all, and she included everyone in her circle of light. And this is someone God would shun?

That was a big nope for me.

And ironically, my mom wasn’t even divorced then. She was still married to my dad. He was just MIA.

Later, I abandoned my childhood faith completely when I talked to a priest about baptizing my precious, firstborn son. Although I didn’t fully believe, the Catholic notion that he might spend the rest of his life in Limbo if he met an untimely death haunted me. I wanted assurance. But the priest said to me, “I can’t baptize your baby. You were married in a Methodist church, so your son is a bastard.”

I clutched that innocent, cherubic, ten-pound beauty to my chest when his only sins were spitting up and cooing sweetly, tears streaming down my face, and I knew I would never return to the church that had made me. Or any other church, for that matter.

Chunky, squishy baby Sam in his Speedo and sunglasses.

When I came out as gay, I lost many. Friends, family, neighbors, acquaintances… there was a mass exodus. I’m sure religion played a part in many of those decisions. I mean, was it wrong for me to determine at age 46 that a mixed-gender marriage was no longer right? That a decision I made at 26 should keep us bound together forever even if it no longer fit? Was I beholden to my marriage no matter who I finally discovered I was?

Organized religion would say yes. So would homophobia.

But life is long and nuanced and we all grow and change and discover. My ex-husband’s life is better now. So is mine. The kids are good. Life moves on.

Comments on the various social media shares of my Huffington Post coming-out article would lead you to believe that I am a monster, deranged, a demon straight from hell.

But I am not the devil, nor am I an angel. I am simply human, flawed and fabulous like the rest of us.

A recent death has made me rethink religion and the damage it can do to families, to friends, to communities. It leaves people “othered” and alone, even those who should be loved by virtue of the families they are born into.

Especially by their families.

When religion sows more discord and division than love and inclusion, it fails everyone.

As a queer woman who has seen too many members of my community shunned and discarded because of who they were born to be, I choose to use my heart and mind to love instead of judge. I choose to embrace the humans who are here on this earth rather than obey an entity who may or may not be.

I’m all for people believing in whatever they want to believe… until that belief system results in the marginalization or oppression of another human or group of humans.

If I’m wrong, I guess I’ll find out eventually. But I’ll go down in those “fiery flames” loving instead of hating and ostracizing and judging.

I’ll choose that path every time.