Guest Post: Shared Life of a Detached Catholic

Sheldon's note: The following guest post come into my blog e-mail inbox last week, from someone who is apparently a regular reader of the blog. He said that he wanted to "get this off his chest", and clearly implied that he wanted this to become a guest post on the blog. I tried e-mailing him back, and got no response back.

I wanted to ask him if he wanted this published under his full name, part of his name, or a pseudonym. Since he never responded to my e-mails, and it appears that from his writings that he is not out to his family about either his sexuality, or the fact that he is no longer a Catholic, I didn't want to release his name with explicit permission from him, I wouldn't want to out someone by accident, so I will simply refer to him as "J.C." (and, no that's not a reference to "Jesus Christ", for the record).

The views of this post are those of the writer, and do not necessarily reflect my views, as you might know, I have a habit of publishing guest posts, interviews, etc of writers whose views on spirituality I may not necessarily agree with, (liberal Christians, etc).

If you are reading this, "J.C", send me an e-mail.

I am a Catholic by "name" only, and nothing more. This is deeply rooted to my sexuality versus the belief system of the church itself. Yes, I am gay. I've always known I was; dating back to my preschool years when I noticed boys/men more than girls/women. Anyway, being raised as a Catholic, I was hammered with teachings about Heaven and Hell, what to do and what not to do, what to become and what not to become. I was being persuaded by my mother to enter priesthood, convincing me that it was "my calling". I was a malevolent young scamp back then. I lied about seeing angels. I guess you could call it scientific curiosity coupled with childhood misbehavior. The following events took place in Brunei, where I was born.

I first noticed the gullibility of the people in church when a priest came to our church claiming he's a "healer". People would line up in front of him, and when he raised his hand to their forehead, they would fall down, only to be caught by lay ministers. My mother and father were one of those people lining up. When it was my turn, I wanted to fall down as well. I wanted to be like my parents, but when he hovered his hand over me, nothing, I felt nothing. I just smiled at him and moved on. 

The second time was when another famous priest came to our church. He was acclaimed for his "life changing sermons" and "Recollection", to which I was dragged to by my parents, along with my brother and sister. The plan was simple, my parents would listen to the priest, while we head off outside to play with the other children of the "flock". Being different and all, I had but a handful of friends, and it was disappointing to me that they weren't there. I was playing alone with bubbles I blew out of a plastic canister, while my brother and sister are talking/playing with their respective friends. Two kids , who  i assumed were related , ran towards me popping the bubbles I blew.

It wasn't long when we found ourselves playing hide and seek. I decided to hide near the church, where the priest was conducting one of his famous Recollections. I was shocked when I saw the church lit only by candle light, and all the grown ups were on the floor, lying on their backs. The church was filled by the sound of a babbling brook, and birds tweeting and chirping. When I walked over to one of the people laying down, I knelt down and gently nudged his shoulder. "What are you doing?" I asked. A lay minister rushed to me and pulled me away gently, telling me not to go into the church. I asked him what was going on, and he said they were praying. "That's not how you pray." I corrected him, being taught otherwise. Praying should be done kneeling, sitting down or standing, never lying down. The lay minister just laughed and sent me off on my way.