JE #7

I was raised in an extremely Mexican Catholic family. I loathed the church. Initially, I detested mass because I found it boring—that was it. Nothing too extreme. I blame my mother for my incredible hated towards the church. My mother, being the holy Catholic that she is, was very involved with our local parish. She was a Eucharistic Minister at one point. She even taught catechism classes during the week. She was very well known and liked and therefore, I, who would fall asleep in mass, had to participate and be involved. Unfortunately, my involuntary involvement was a bit extreme. Not only was I baptized but I also did my First Communion, for at least six years. That’s right, my mother would put me in catechism every year even though I had already completed my First Communion. Year after year I was in class, on Wednesdays (I think), learning the same prayers and teachings. I hated it but there I was each year. Then, my mother put me into choir and eventually I was an altar boy. Hated both of those as well. Finally, when it was time to sign up for my confirmation, I signed myself up because it was my escape from catechism classes but trust me, I didn’t want to do that either but I knew as long as I lived with my mother, I had no choice. By this point, I already knew my sexuality was something that my mother’s church would condemn; being a Catholic homosexual doesn’t go well. So, initially, my hatred for the Catholic Church had nothing to do with my sexuality but everything to do with my mother. In a sense I was rebellious in that way as a teenager; anything my mother enjoyed, I hated.

Eventually, when I moved out of my mother’s house and into my grandmother’s house, I had to attend mass, regularly. Truth be told, because I loved my grandmother more than my own mother, I would attend mass with her because I knew it would make her happy (and also because that was our weekly lunch outing). Eventually, I began to distance myself from attending mass with my grandmother. She knew it wasn’t for me. Once my mother discovered that I had stopped attending mass, she attempted to guilt me. It, clearly, didn’t work. When I would attend mass, I would never receive communion (and I still don’t) because I’m queer. I will continue to refuse taking Holy Communion until the Catholic Church accepts queers but, until that day arrives (which I doubt), I will gladly sit out. I did, however, respect my grandmother for her refusal of taking communion. Though I love my grandmother unconditionally, she was not the holiest of Christians but she refused to take communion because she was a “sinner,” as she had stated. Because she had divorced in the 1960’s, she knew that she couldn’t take communion. She had faith in her religion but she was a sinner. So there we were, two heathens, sitting in mass watching everyone take communion.

Will I ever return to mass on my own? I highly doubt it. I do, however, attend mass for weddings and such but other than that, I’m a sinner (according to the church). It’s been over eight years since I’ve had communion and I don’t see myself having some anytime soon. Though I’ve considered taking wine a few times, I mean, you never turn down free alcohol.