enough
I was raised Catholic. Educated by nuns and Christian Brothers (a religious teaching order; like a low-rent Jesuits), and christened confirmed and ‘massed’ in the Catholic Church.
The Christian Brothers I was educated by were, by and large, not the best advertisement for any religion: They often appeared bitter, resentful, angry, confused, and uncaring. One man amongst them all cancelled out all that damage. He was intelligent, funny, kind, gentle, willing to use the intelligence and kindness to play devil’s advocate in debates, giving arguments that supported ideas or positions that he personally may not have supported. He made a bigger mark in my heart and in my life than any number of other forgettable twisted, cassock wearing psychological misfits.
My parents, two working class, left-leaning Dubliners, went (and still go to) mass every week. They believe, and they transferred many of their personal beliefs to me. And the Jesus that I remember, after all those years of God knows how much doctrine and pressure, is the one that my parents introduced me to as a tiny child: The kind loving forgiving merciful non-judgemental one. And chief amongst the beliefs they transferred was the idea that one should live by the golden rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
Whether you believe in God, or subscribe to the ‘Imaginary friends don’t tell me how to live my life’ viewpoint, it’s a perfectly good rule to live your life by. It covers almost every eventuality. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Not because you think you’ll get your pie in the sky when you die. Not because God is watching from a distance and will tell Bette Midler if you don’t. Do it because it’s the right thing to do. It’s basic human decency. It’s what removes us from the chaos and darkness of the universe:We could shit on every one and every thing in a quest for total and utter self gratification, but we won’t. We’ll at least try to balance our desires out against the greater good.
It’s not always successful: Check my past posts. I’ll bitch badmouth and backbite at least once a post week, but I keep trying, and I don’t think I do too badly. I’m a good person (channelling Sally Fields).
Do I believe much of what I was raised with? It depends. Catch me on a Monday, I’ll tell you that I believe in a greater power than the simple scrabbling ants on a pile of dung that humanity so often closely resembles, and that I can’t accept that after we die all that energy all that spirit can simply evaporate; catch me on a Wednesday, and I’ll tell you that the idea of a big cloud where John Lennon is jamming with Mozart is just stupid. If I love someone with all my heart, and they love me, is any of those facts devalued when they die? Does the work they’ve done on moulding my character - whether consciously or not - on adding to the total of experiences that make up my life and the lives of the many who knew them, mean more or less if we accept that they’re gone and not coming back? I vacillate. It’s the last vestiges of my Catholicism.
But, having been raised Catholic, I reached a point where it was obvious, even to me, that I no longer had a place at the table. That realisation came in my very early teens, at about the same time that I met the one good man above. He probably never had any idea of how I felt or of what I was going through. He might have had very different opinions to mine, and might have considered the hopes and fantasies I nursed distasteful. But he nonetheless made it clear to all of the boys (it was a single-sex school) that these were our lives, this was our church, and it was up to us to make ‘it’ work. Nowadays, the diocese would probably have him fired. Or Burnt. Actually, back then they would have. Maybe he was smarter than I ever imagined.
Whatever, I finally decided, in the same way I might do if the country club I were a member of instituted a “No Blacks or Jews” policy, that, much as I enjoyed the amenities - the golf course, the steam room, the everlasting redemption or the confessional - that I was no longer willing to turn a blind eye to the inequities, discriminations and outright hatred that I felt being directed at people like me. So, in the same way that it might be pointless to stage a protest alongside the eighteenth hole, I figured it was easier to make use of another maxim I’d picked up somewhere: “If you don’t like the management, find another bar”.
And I walked. I don’t mock people for their beliefs (see above: I don’t always know what mine are), and I try very hard not to castigate them for managing successfully to reconcile themselves to what I could not. But I don’t miss it. I still have my guide book for how to live my life. I still have decency and kindness and goodness and imagination and love, and I still think (on alternate days as well as Christmas and children’s birthdays) that the world’s a beautiful place, and that humanity is basically good.
Then I read stuff like this. It has comments from several ‘Christian’ religions, so lest I’m accused of doing a hack job on the Romans, let’s get that straight: This is not exclusive to the Roman Catholic Church, who at least don’t hang people like me. But I’ve clipped one specific quotation out to save you reading the whole thing: Some of you already have high enough blood pressure. And the text I’ve based my sermon on today is:
“Bishop Arthur J. Serratelli of Paterson, N.J., chairman of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ committee on doctrine, said the church considers same-sex attractions to be “objectively disordered” because “they do not accord with the natural purpose of sexuality.” Although “simply experiencing a homosexual inclination is not in itself a sin,” he said, homosexual acts are “sinful,” “never morally acceptable” and “do not lead to true human happiness.”"
And my sermon is: Fuck You, Bishop Arthur J. Serratelli of Paterson, N.J., chairman of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ committee on doctrine. I’ve had my fair share * of “homosexual acts”, but quite frankly the only ones I’ve considered “sinful,” “never morally acceptable” and which I believe “do not lead to true human happiness,” are those of Grahame Norton and almost any handled by Louis Walsh (with the exception of Saint Girlsalouod, obviously). But that’s another story.
July this year, a room full of love. Male. Female. Straight. Gay. Young. Old. Very Old. People who weren’t sure whether they agreed with a gay wedding before hand, who sent letters afterwards thanking us for a day ‘Filled with love and happiness’ seventy year old women, middle aged men, 7 year old boys and 10 year old girls. And they know nothing, they’re mistaken. What they saw was “objectively disordered”. The love they celebrated and applauded (which will display itself in touching, in kissing, and, if I get lucky, in full on bumsex) is wrong.
I swore, after that day, that I’d never get angry again at morons like Bishop Arthur J. Serratelli of Paterson, N.J., chairman of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ committee on doctrine or his boss the Prad wearing goiter-eyed ex-Nazi, but, I mean, really. What’s a sane person to do?
Anger over. And breathe…
We now return you to our scheduled program of nothingness. But to tide you over, here’s a couple of pictures of two Intrinsically Disordered Sinners, who are highly unlikely to ever find true human happiness.
*this is a lie. I could always happily do with more, D, if you’re reading this.