Last night
I began a new program that our parish is doing to reach the unchurched and
those who have walked away from the Catholic faith. Father suggested that we all participate. Though
I was not interested in joining because it’s a series of ten sessions covering
very basic material, my friends motivated me to participate as a way to meet
together once a week and grow in faith.
Thus, I joined to socialize with my friends, to get to know them more
while exploring deep topics and to learn about the program since Father wants me
to lead a group next January. Each night
is set-up in a very casual, welcoming way.
We begin by having dinner with our small group and just socializing. Then a video is played followed by questions
about faith. In the video there was this
small testimony a man gave and it really moved me… Sometime ago I read a post on my friend’s
blog about seven types of Catholic nerds and if I can take the liberty of
labeling myself I think I am the Converty-Pants Geek. Our conversion story has power. Inspired by last night I want to share today
why I left the Catholic faith.
Parroquia San Juan Bautista en mi Pueblo
I grew up
in a very deep Catholic environment, by the time I was seven I was fully initiated
into the church having received all of my Sacraments of Initiation. Our town in Mexico moved along with the
liturgical year and together as a town we celebrated the big celebrations of
the church year round. I went to church
every Sunday and sometimes during the week too.
Life has simple and happy. When
my family moved to California we still went to our local parish for dominical
Mass. Yet, as I left the childhood years
and entered the challenging years of adolescence I began finding my church
attendance meaningless. Problems at home
made me begin to question my faith. In
Mexico, we were pretty well off, we owned our home and I had my own bedroom while in California we shared a two bedroom apartment with my uncle and his
family. At one point, there were
eighteen of us living in such small quarters.
My dad and uncle were alcoholics and every weekend they would get really
drunk. Alcohol would make my uncle crazy
and at least once a month he would beat my aunt. My dad would be too drunk to help separate the
fights and I would have to intervene.
This meant sometimes receiving some of the blows. The turmoil at home and the poverty in which
we lived made my life very hard. The
beatings became my routine for years and slowly I began to lash out to the only
one that I could- God. I hated Him for
not answering my prayers, for not healing my dad from alcoholism, for allowing
the violence to occur. One Sunday, I
told my mom that I would no longer be going to church anymore- I must have been
around twelve years old. Too weak to
argue she consented. Then one night, I arrived from a school dance and opened the front door to find glass shattered everywhere.
The next morning I was to learn that my dad had tried committing
suicide. That night I killed God out of
my life. I hated Him, to hope in Him was
too painful and I gave in to bitterness and resentment. Anger became my fuel and I didn’t want
anything to do with a God who never intervened in my wretched life anyway.
Men have
always been attracted to me, even when I was a small child and several times I
experience things that children should not experience. Though I was never raped, the trauma was
enough to leave me broken and ashamed.
Three different men at three different times in my life molested
me. This too would be another huge
barrier between God and me. Where had He
been during these traumatic moments? Why had He allowed it to happen? Fury entered into my heart and revenge
motivated me. I wanted to grow up and be
powerful enough to avenge the damage that these men inflicted in me. I hated all men, and I vowed never to get
married.
By the time
I left High School, God was just someone who if I needed a punching bag I would
use. I hated Him so much. I hated the pain hope gave me and I was too
weak and too angry to ever rely on faith.
I found solace in the writings of Nietzsche and others like him. The further I walked away from God, the stronger
I felt; but also the unhappier and the more bitter that my heart became. I suffered from severe untreated depression. My life was meaningless and I often thought
of suicide. I hated myself, I hated men,
I hated my dad, I hated life and God above all.
Then I began to abuse alcohol and to party to wee hours of the
morning. Alcohol relieved the
unhappiness temporarily, but in the mornings I would feel so ashamed of my drunken
behavior. Soon I was drinking from
Thursday through Sunday- just staying sober to attend college classes and to
complete homework assignments. I began
drinking and driving. Life didn’t
matter, I didn’t matter we were all going to die anyway- complete hopelessness
consumed my heart…
Then my brother
committed suicide and defeated I ran to God.
Not for myself, but for my brother I needed to believe in life after
death for my brother’s sake. I couldn’t
accept that after suffering from Schizophrenia he would just disappear into
oblivion…
No comments:
Post a Comment