This post was submitted by corey

Holidays like Easter and Passover are great times for us to reflect on how religion has fucked up our lives, given us an excuse to eat candy, or – somehow, through all the bullshit – enriched us. Last week, Zack brought you a staff survey all about religion, and you’ve probably noticed the subject creeping up through some of our columns, as well. I even went through the Bible and broke down some of the myths regarding the Judeo-Christian tradition and the LGBT community today.

Today we bring you three more perspectives on religion from Hans, Rocky, and Adam. Their experiences range from Mormonism to Catholicism, to secularism and Santa shams. We hope you enjoy.

Hans, Editorial Assistant:

I went to a Thanksgiving reunion with my father’s side of the family in Arizona this past November. They’re hardcore Mormons (the same goes for my mother’s side) and we were only three weeks removed from the passage of Prop 8. My immediate family left the church when I was an infant and is generally regarded as the “black sheep” wing of the clan. As a result, we’re not too close. I only see or hear from the far reaches of my family maybe once every few years, with the exception of my grandfather (mother’s side), who knows about my being gay and is fine with it – but he was never overly-faithful anyway.

I was having dramatic visions of blasting out of the closet over turkey and stuffing, telling them what they and the church could go do with themselves, and then burning a trail of fire across the Sonoran Desert in my rental car back to the airport in Phoenix. My grandmother, however, one of the few people on that side of the family that I feel deeply attached to, was in very ill health and it was made clear to me that this was probably the last time I would see her before the funeral. I chose not to make a scene for her sake, and spent a lot of time indulging in beer and the House M.D. marathon in my hotel room instead.

I’ve had very productive conversations with Evangelicals, Baptists, Catholics and Mormons alike, and more than anything else it depends on who you’re talking to. If you’re talking about churches in general though, the Mormon church stands head and shoulders above all of the Christ-based religions when it comes to demonizing homosexuals – you just don’t hear as much about them as you do the rest. I thank the powers that be every day that my parents left the church.

Rocky, Music Editor

I’ve never been particularly religious. From a really early age, I was just weirded out and skeptical of the whole thing. I was four when my parents divorced, which is old enough to realize that something fucked up is going on, but too young to really understand what it is. That shit turns you into a realist real quick. You start questioning everything. And lord knows I was vocal to the point of annoyance. (Me, age six: “But if Santa comes down chimneys, how is he going to get into this two-bedroom apartment, Dad? Oh… That sucks…”) My mom, the former flower child, was really into like hippie Unitarian churches around that time, but I never really understood what was going on or why I had to be there. I never really fully understood the story I was expected to believe; it just never made sense. So this “virgin” shows up pregnant one day, tells her husband an angel told her her babydaddy’s god, and everyone believes this nonsense for some reason. Then, 30 years later, the kid dies, because we’re all a bunch of douchebags, so we all need to be super nice to one another while following this book of arcane rules, arbitrarily discriminating against one another based on gender, race, orientation, etc., starting wars in his name and so on and so forth in order to honor his sacrifice. Is that about right? I mean my mom let me watch Ricki Lake with her when I was a child, so you best believe I was not trying to hear that mess. Talk about a leap of faith!

After all the dust settled, my mom fell into a pretty dark place and stopped making us go, but every few years she would find a church she thought she could like and would make us go for a few weeks. I think she really wanted friends and didn’t know how else to make them. But every time it was a disaster. She’d get all into it, I wouldn’t, she’d get mad and, invariably, she’d tell someone I could sing so I could get more involved. Before I knew I’d be up in front of a group of perfectly nice strangers singing some excruciating song about Jesus and hating every moment with every fiber of my being. It felt so disingenuous singing something in praise of something else you find patently ridiculous for a group of people who, if you’re lucky, will accept you in spite of who you are. I mean I have my insecurities, but I’m not quite that insecure. The whole exercise just felt so unnecessary. Now, my favorite piece of advice I’ve ever received was from my favorite English teacher. He said to never accept insincerity from yourself and that’s something I believe with my whole heart, so I’d start refusing to go. Mom finally gave up when I was in high school and left me alone with my Camel Lights and Fiona Apple CDs. Finally. She married my stepdad a few years ago and he’s really nurtured her long dormant interest in the sciences. (She has a psych degree and was all set to go to med school before my older sister came along.) Their TV room is littered with all these scientific documentaries. I think that and Judge Judy are all that she watches nowadays. Anyway, the point is she came out to me as an atheist for a few years ago. She seems really happy about it.

As for my dad, he’s always fancied himself a high-powered business executive of the 1980s variety, so god’s always been pretty unnecessary, but he’s been going to church regularly for about a year now. I suspect this has more to do with my stepmother than anything, but who knows? And no one in my extended family is all that religious either. I come from very logical, secular stock.

So… I guess when it comes to my spiritual development, I’ve pretty much had to raise myself since adolescence. I think that’s what my parents (hippies, remember) wanted in the first place, plus I’m pretty willful so it was going to happen anyway. I mean I have this romantic side that would like to believe there’s some higher power up there with a plan for everyone. It’s just too depressing to think of us as random collections of random molecules randomly bouncing off each other. But that higher power doesn’t have anything to do with any of the organized religions and never has. To me, religion, especially Western religion, has always been about indoctrination and control and that unnerves me. It’s cool if that’s what you need, but it’s not for me. So like everyone else on the planet, I’ve created a god in my own image. I mean he’s a lot nicer than me, but you can be gay as you want and he doesn’t give a shit. Oh, and the best part? The god of my universe isn’t so insecure that he/she/it/they needs to be worshiped, so waking up at 2pm on a Sunday and reaching for the nearest Bloody Mary is totally allowed. Hallelujah!

Adam, Chicago Editor

Growing up in New York, I was raised Roman Catholic. Later in life, I found it was weird to be black AND Catholic everywhere else in the states except the east coast, as if Baptist was the default setting on every African Americans’ religion button and my grandparents changed it discreetly. It was always kind of a weird mandatory right of passage in my family to follow the sacraments of Catholicism. I’ve had my Baptism, First Communion, and Confirmation, the latter in which I had a party celebrating my Confirming faith and undying love for the Lord while struggling with the fact that I was falling in love with my best friend Lee at sixteen in the same month.

My grandmother, Isabel, was the only person I was afraid of disappointing with my news of homosexuality. She was an incredibly religious woman as well as my sponsor for my Confirmation and had given me my confirmation name, the aptly placed Anthony, the patron saint of lost articles, oppressed people, and donkeys as well as my first and middle names, Adam Albert. She was a graceful beautiful woman, and activist in her own right, and beautiful inside and out til the day she passed. And of course she was fun, spunky and lovable. And an avid Mets fan. According to my mom, my first phrase was “Got damn you Darryl Strawberry”, which I learned from my Grandmother who would yell the phrase repeatedly.

My spring break of my Junior year in College, I decided to go visit her in NY and tell her of my sexual preference. We decided to go walk around Central Park on a brisk but sunny March day and visit the Guggenheim museum, which to this day was one of the best times I’ve ever had. When we returned back to her house, I told her. She replied “The Lord loves all. And will always love you but never as much as I will.” We then went on as if nothing was discussed. The next two years before her death, nothing has changed. She still called me her baby boy and she was still my Nana.

My faith has not so much wavered but changed since then. Graduating from a Jesuit college fostered my homosexuality as well as my religious beliefs. Every single Jesuit father at Xavier is gay, and everyone knows it. But since they are not allowed to have sexual relations, their sexuality is a moot point. One Jesuit father, Father Bisoff, in particular taught me to have my own relationship with God during a silent weekend retreat. Ever since, I haven’t really follow other traditional religions. I just have my own personal relationship with God that allows to me who I am as long as I try to make a positive difference in the world by fighting for what I believe in.

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