Ministry Secrets

When I was a retreat planner in college, I found myself very frustrated by some of the things I saw within the school's Catholic ministry. I wrote a brief but impactful essay to a friend who was out of town, and today I discovered it again. This was penned on November 9, 2007.

Seriously [friend], I wish you were here. I really miss you. Being a good little Catholic boy is really starting to get to me. I’m feeling something distinctly non-Catholic coming on, and you are one of my primary sources for such behavior. I miss having you to keep me leveled-out and prevent me from falling too far into a system of rules and doctrines that I don’t really buy into. There’s been a lot going on in my head lately. I realized that while I may be wrong in what I believe, at least I’m not a hypocrite. At least I stick by my guns! Not like some of these guys I live with… all piety and humility out in the world of the Ministry, but get them alone and things stop adding up.

Everything is such a fucking performance with the Ministry! We all pretend that we don’t have these subversive, “heretical” thoughts, and we all keep quiet about the parts of our lives that don’t line up with the Church, but I know that everyone has skeletons in their closets. I’ve seen and heard it. We whisper to each other in confidence, behind closed doors. We keep each other’s secrets. Like the talented actors we are, we put on our modest costumes and play the parts of the innocent church mice. But just as with any theater production, the clothes and costume come off backstage, after the show. It’s all smoke and mirrors with these people! We spout lies scripted by the religion we all claim to follow without exception, and everyone plays his or her part wit the benefit of years of practice. I’m sick of it. I refuse to take part in this façade. Why can’t we all just stop bullshitting and act like the people we know we truly are? You’d be so proud if you could see all the quiet rebellions I’ve incited within the Ministry. I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. And even if I’m wrong, at least I’m REAL! At least I know where I stand! At least I can run the race and say, “This is what I really believe!”

I envision a future for this Ministry where everyone is accepted as they are. Discourse is encouraged rather than silenced. The Church, our immortal, immaculate judge and jury, has been wrong before. There is room for a difference of opinion and understanding. Despite what the clergy profess, I feel that we can go about faith in more than one way. My views are not canon, but they’re grounded in an honest attempt to live in a way that’s true to who I am. I can’t change what I am and what my feelings tell me. Does anyone else feel the same? In the shadows of the Ministry hide others like me, other who understand this concept. Will we ever see the light? Or will the light see us?

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that people who profess such patience, empathy, and faithfulness can be so intolerant. They judge with their eyes and their superegos, knowing full well that their hearts cry out at the sight of a kindred spirit. Again, the theatrics get in the way of how the actors really feel. I think there must be more people in the Ministry who feel this way than I’m aware of. But we must all keep secrets.

The Ministry—and by extension, the Church herself—exerts control through guilt and isolation. We all have our crosses to bear, yes, but at some point the crosses stop adding up. Guilt is a self-imposed behavioral control, and therein lies its brilliance. We are forced to act the way we do because to do otherwise would be to admit that we did not—and furthermore, I think, cannot—live up to the lofty ideals of the Catholic faith. Thus, we feel guilt for our inevitable failings and isolation in our suffering, because to share the alleged wrongs we’ve done would be to invite the possibility of judgment, and furthermore, would be humiliating in the face of the others who are silent about their wrongs.

We all know that we all sin, but if no one says it, then no one is sure where anyone else stands. Each of us feels the lonely burden of being the rock upon which the Church is built; for although we all know in our hearts that we are not alone in our failings, we cannot rest without the verbal validation that other Catholics can provide. This validation is stunted and discouraged as form is social control, perpetuated by the Church herself. But I have started to break free! By identifying the system, I have already begun to exert control over it and claim exemption from it. I know there are others out there who feel as I feel. All I need is the time and courage to find them.

Mission 2010

I’m back. I survived. And I did a bit of writing while I was gone, although I wasn’t nearly as productive this year as I was last year. I think this is largely due to how novel atheism was for me a year ago. Now it’s pretty much business as usual; I’m not constantly thinking and wondering about it. I’ve decided to just put all my entries here in one place for your reading pleasure. No sense stretching this out into a bunch of tiny posts, right? Enjoy.

Sunday

I rode up here with the trip’s only other male chaperone. We talked about ourselves, our lives, that sort of thing. He really opened up to me; halfway through the trip he was telling me about a “problem” he was having with his daughter (also attending the trip). Apparently, she’d made friends with some non-denominational Evangelicals in her grade, and they were giving her anti-Catholic arguments and ideas. I advised him on how I’d proceed, telling him to give her the answers to her questions, but not to force her choice. It was really a deep conversation. I guess I’m easy to talk to, just as people often tell me. But I wonder… would he change his opinion of me if he knew I was an atheist?

I wrote a bit in my journal about today. I’ll write more here.

Can I do this? Three members of my family are here with me: my mom, my bro, and my youngest sis. They all know I’m an atheist. Does anyone else? I just wonder sometimes how people would react if they knew. Would they shun me? Stop trusting my opinions? Argue? I don’t know and I don’t care to find out.

I’m excited to see where this week takes me. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

Monday

It’s funny how easy it is for me to pass as Catholic. I guess that comes from all those years of real Catholicism I went through. I can talk theology and prayer with the best of them. It’s almost amusing.

I'm in such a different place now. Last year I was confused about everything. I was trying to understand how I could even exist in a world without God. Now I've done just that for over a year (well, technically for my entire life, but I wasn't aware of it until last year). I feel confident in my decision to be an atheist. I feel reassured that I'm right, or at least justified. After all, I haven't been struck by lightning or stricken with plague. I'm still here. Still whole. And I'm just as happy as I was when I believed... maybe even moreso. Without all that unnecessary guilt and such, I'm able to keep my life focused on progress. I find that although my past still haunts me, it no longer holds such powerful sway over my actions and thoughts. Being here on this trip after a year of open atheism serves only to reaffirm my decision. I am an atheist. There is no God. And that's fine with me.

Tuesday

Nothing

Wednesday

Nothing

Thursday

I went to Mass at the migrant camps tonight. Had a conversation with the youth minister in charge of our group afterward. She mentioned how the more develop our program here has gotten (in terms of the amount of food and clothing distributed), the smaller the attendance of Mass has been.

It seems obvious to me why this is the case, but of course I didn’t tell her: their needs are being met. They no longer need to rely on prayer out of desperation. Therefore, their religious conviction is dwindling. It follows the same trend as countries do; the higher the standard of living and education, the lower the religious attendance.

Friday

Ugh, we're at mass and it sucks. This stupid ceremony, all this pomp and circumstance, used to awe and amaze me. Now it fills me with disgust. Every minute of this tired dirge is brimming with pointless accolades and Catholic mind control.

The priest just made a crack about historians. Apparently BCE (before common era) is the current way to denote the time period before year zero. The priest said "so called historians and scientists" objected to the use of BC (before Christ) and AD (ad domine, of God). Well duh. Of course we do. Why do we base our entire historical catalog system off the birth of Jesus (which, by the way, didn't happen in the year zero)? Some people regard it as the most important moment in human history... but those people are severely misguided. Bleh.

This trip has been really easy. I spent a lot of time talking the Catholic talk and walking the Catholic walk, but I knew I'd have to do that when I signed up. I think my lack of faith is much stronger now, after a year away from the supernatural. I'm not assaulted by doubts or wonderings anymore. I don't have that subtle fear of being wrong that I did last year.

As I said to Jesus, safely stowed away in the tabernacle: "You hold no power over me. I'm not afraid. Does that make you sad? Angry? Scared?" I'm happy as an atheist. And this mission hasn't so much as loosened even one finger of my grip on reality.

Saturday

nothing

Once More Into The Breach

Well, here I go again. It was just about a year ago that I embarked upon a weeklong trip in the midst of diehard Catholics, and now I’m preparing to do it once more. I leave tomorrow. That trip last year was, for me, the final challenge as I deconverted: could I remain a steadfast atheist in the face of not only physical labor but also an overwhelming Catholic influence? Could I look into the eyes of the men and women who shaped me during my early religious formation, knowing that I no longer believed any of the things they’d worked so hard to teach me? Could I handle being the only person in a crowded room who didn’t buy into the mumbo-jumbo being touted at the altar?

Apparently the answer was yes.

So why go back? Didn’t I suffer enough the last time? Haven’t I had my fill of awkwardness and discomfort? Well, yes and no. I’m exaggerating how awful it was; no one really knew I was an atheist at that point, so most of the tension was in my head. But this year I’m out in the open. I’m not hiding anymore. And that means someone could (and perhaps will) call me on it.

I’m not scared. In fact, I kind of hope someone does call me on it. Preferably in private: I’ll be unable to make any headway whatsoever in a public setting with the deck stacked so heavily against me. But whether anyone does or not, I’m very aware that people know. I mean, I shouldn't care. I don’t care. But it’s still a bit difficult to go along with prayers and mass and such (or as I like to call it, “let’s play make-believe”) when other people know I’m faking it.

I fully expect to have a great time. I don’t think anything will go awry and I feel confident that I can outwit or stalemate anyone who tries to discuss their beliefs with me. I just wanted to leave this little primer here, and a teaser as well: I’ll be hand writing entries during the week, and I’ll backdate them into this blog when I return. So now you have something to look forward to!

See you in a week. Wish me luck!

Final Thoughts on the Mission

This entry was written while I was away from home on a Catholic mission trip and subsequently placed in its correct timeslot. Line breaks generally indicate some amount of time between the writing of the paragraphs, as I penned these thoughts over the course of the day. I have not changed the content of this entry, save for minor spelling and grammar corrections.

Social justice is important for everyone. It doesn’t matter that these people are Catholic and I’m not; equality and respect of human dignity are things that we can both agree upon. I’ll be honest: I agree with almost everything I’ve seen this week, with the exception of the Catholic stuff. Take all that faith nonsense out, and you have an amazing set of morals and some people who will do anything to promote social justice. These are good folks. They’ve got it all right… except, again, the religion part.

I feel a bit like I’ve been unplugged from the Matrix of religion. I can hear Morpheus’ words as I write this: “Most of these people are not ready to be unplugged.” They’re not! I asked Allison today if she thinks the story of Noah’s ark is literally true, and she said yes. When I asked her why, she more or less said that she didn’t have a reason. I realized then that Allison is in deep. And why wouldn’t she be? She’s been doing it her whole life. I respect her and I think she’s very intelligent, but here’s the thing: She doesn’t want to think about it. It matters very little to her whether it’s true or not, because what’s more important is her children, her husband, her career, and her social status. Whether God is real or not is, overall, not that important. And this is likely true of a lot of Catholics/Christians I know. So ultimately, all I can do is agree to disagree and leave it at that.

Wishing for the Truth

This entry was written while I was away from home on a Catholic mission trip and subsequently placed in its correct timeslot. Line breaks generally indicate some amount of time between the writing of the paragraphs, as I penned these thoughts over the course of the day. I have not changed the content of this entry, save for minor spelling and grammar corrections.

Back in the chapel again. I… I wish it was true. All of it. I’m scared. I don’t want to leave. I’ve been drifting away for over a year, and yet still I cling. Still I hope. But this mission is the last straw for me. I’ve seen now that even a strong desire to delude myself is not enough. I’ve chosen reason. I’ve chosen the truth. Harsh, biting truth, colder than the dark side of Mercury. No matter how I’ve tried this week, I know in my heart and mind that I can never go back. I’m out forever. I am an atheist through and through. And thus, here I sit. Alone. Quiet. Calm. Contemplating. Resting before the tabernacle, a relic I once believed holy and cosmically significant. I look up at it with pleading eyes, because for the first time since I became a non-believer, I want to have my knowledge wiped away. Alas, nothing. No final, shocking revelation from God. No whispered words of an angel. No loving embrace from Christ. I am alone in this chapel, and with a sickening lurch, I realize that I’ve always been alone here. Even in days gone by, when I would pray in places like this. Even at the heights of religious ecstasy. Even when among thousands of believers.

No matter how much I want it to be true, it is not. Christianity is false. I am alone here.

And I think I’m finally ok with that.

I think empathy is one of the most beautiful emotions in the human repertoire. The ability to feel the pain of others is unique to our species, and thus we carry a special type of burden that other creatures do not. I’ve seen lots of empathy this week, but nowhere is there more of it than during the closing ceremony for the mission. Everyone shares a story about something that touched them this week. Most of the stories are about events that cause others to feel happy. Many people cry during this ceremony. Myself, well, I guess my heart has been hardened. I used to be too empathetic (note the suffix). Now I’m not empathetic enough. But oh well.

I’m suddenly reminded of a line from a Regina Spektor song: “You laugh until you cry/you cry until you laugh/and everyone must breathe/until their dying breath”.

This is a beautiful ceremony. There is so much love in this room. So much compassion. I wish desperately that I could say a magic word and suddenly everyone would realize that God isn’t here right now; and more importantly, we’re fine without him. “People! Listen! You don’t need God to tell you to be here! You can just be here!”

Worshiping Bread

This entry was written while I was away from home on a Catholic mission trip and subsequently placed in its correct timeslot. Line breaks generally indicate some amount of time between the writing of the paragraphs, as I penned these thoughts over the course of the day. I have not changed the content of this entry, save for minor spelling and grammar corrections.

I didn’t write much yesterday, primarily because I was really busy. It was our distribution day, which means we had to hand out all the food, clothes, and supplies we’ve been organizing all week. I saw a lot of great things from the students (leadership, patience, etc.) and of course the warm fuzzy feelings you get from helping people were also nice. And again, let me stress: No faith necessary. It’s just me, the human. I’m looking out at a world that will someday fade, but for the time being it’s here, it’s now, and I’m part of it. And no matter what happens, the fact that I existed will always be true. I live my life by a guiding principle similar to the one held by the faithful: what we do in this life is what matters.

On an unrelated note, I now find it very funny to put “sin” in perspective. Why would the creator of the universe care one iota about what we, mere insignificant specks on an insignificant speck, do with our time? “But God wants to have a personal relationship with each of us,” you say. Is that so? God’s idea of a personal relationship is pretty fucked, then. “I’m going to silently watch you everywhere, at all times, and if you screw up even once, I’m not letting you back into Heaven until you say you’re sorry. And mean it. Cuz I’ll know if you don’t.” For Catholics this means you must tell a priest your sins. It’s not good enough to say them to yourself, even though God is everywhere and in each of us. We’re all with God, but some people are more with God than others.

I sit now in the presence of “Christ”. “He” is locked up safe and warm inside the golden tabernacle here in the church. Did you know that tabernacles and dishes for Mass are supposed to be made of gold? After all, we must show proper respect to our God. Can’t be keeping him in any of those other metals he created, no sir. Only gold is fit for God. Anyway, looking at this situation from an outside perspective reveals just how ridiculous it is. I’m sitting in a special room designated for one purpose: to house a golden box in which is held, under lock and key, a few pieces of unleavened bread. I’m supposed to genuflect to this box when entering and exiting the room.

The other day I heard someone say, “Christ is really, physically present, in the form of bread and wine.” What? This is nonsense. It can’t be both ways: either the bread changes into some other physical substance, or it doesn’t. It if does, that’s testable. If it doesn’t, then the implication is that the bread and wine have immaterial/spiritual properties. But that’s absurd. Wheat and grapes don’t have souls. This is why they call it a “mystery”.

There’s no mystery. You’re worshiping a piece of bread.

We celebrated Mass at the migrant camp today. It made me a little sad. These people put up with the horrible state of their lives partly because they believe that they’ll go to paradise after death. Sure, maybe the thought of that gives some of them the hope they need in order to keep going. But at the same time, it cripples their drive to fight for change and equality. They stay where they are because they believe God will reward them for their suffering.

False. There is no God. Heaven is a logical impossibility under Catholicism. These people have been brainwashed, and they’ll stay that way until something drastic occurs.

I feel bad sometimes, thinking this way. In our group, I find myself placing people into one of several categories as I stand among them: too young or naïve to truly believe; indoctrinated by their parents; not smart enough to understand the arguments against their faith; intelligent, but unwilling to search for the truth; set in their ways and unwilling to change; and so on. Is it wrong of me to think this way? Every single one of these people is deluded in some way. Each would require a different style of argument or piece of evidence in order to convince them otherwise, assuming it’s possible to do so.

But that’s not my place. They may believe as they wish. All I ask is for the same privilege.

no title

It’s true what they say: there are no Christian children. There are only the children of Christian parents.

St. Claire's Cat

This entry was written while I was away from home on a Catholic mission trip and subsequently placed in its correct timeslot. Line breaks generally indicate some amount of time between the writing of the paragraphs, as I penned these thoughts over the course of the day. I have not changed the content of this entry, save for minor spelling and grammar corrections.

Another restless night. I hope I can sleep this evening, because waking up each day with progressively higher levels of exhaustion is not something I’m looking forward to. Oh well. That’s what I get for not bringing an air mattress.

Entertained an erotic fantasy about previously mentioned older woman; fantasy involved shower room and relative privacy enjoyed therein. More on this story as it develops.

Mass again. We’re gonna do this every morning, I’m thinking. Oh well. If God were real, he’d be pis (Mass began as I was writing the preceding statement. Make of that what you will.)

St. Claire’s cat: During Mass, the fast-talking Irish priest told us about St. Claire of Assisi. At one point he said, “According to legend, when St. Claire was bedridden, she wanted a towel from across the room. So she asked the cat, and the cat got it for her.” Everyone laughed.

…seriously? The idea of an invisible best friend who follows everybody everywhere all the time and can grant wishes is totally fine, but the notion that a woman—who, by virtue of being a saint, is able to call down favors from God Himself—can somehow communicate with a cat is a little too far beyond the pale?

Theists… *shakes head*

I suspect that a few of the junior high girls have taken a liking to me. No matter. My heart beats only for one; perfection, thy name is MILF.

Ironically, someone made a joke this evening about Allison [note: name has been changed] and me showering together. The circumstances permitted such buffoonery. I laughed it off… and got just a tiny bit aroused. More on this story as it develops.

Today was long. Very long. But worthwhile. My old passion for social justice is coming back. And totally God-free too! I gave a very inspiring speech this evening about how immigration isn’t a black and white issue. They ate it up. I was phenomenal. And again, didn’t need to mention God even once. I’m starting to see that my life isn’t as different as I thought it would be. I still do the same things. Now I just don’t waste time praying to an imaginary being. Saves precious minutes and hours of my very finite life.

All right, time for rest. Until tomorrow, I remain: Closet Atheist.

Leave Jesus at the Door

This entry was written while I was away from home on a Catholic mission trip and subsequently placed in its correct timeslot. Line breaks generally indicate some amount of time between the writing of the paragraphs, as I penned these thoughts over the course of the day. I have not changed the content of this entry, save for minor spelling and grammar corrections.

Thankfully, holy water doesn’t burn holes in atheist foreheads.

I’m sitting inside a church, getting ready to endure Mass. Sigh… the things I do for the sake of appearances. But revealing myself would be far worse, I feel, so for now I will put up with it.

A good day. Almost no mention of religion at all. When we began working at the distribution center, we went around and said why we’d come on the trip. I think maybe two people said something about God. I thought to myself, “Why bring that in? It’s clear that most of you didn’t even think of it when you signed up. Just leave Jesus at the door!”

Also, I find myself strangely attracted to a woman at least fifteen years my senior. More on that story as it unfolds.

You know how I know that I’m really an atheist? Because I’m in the thick of it. I’m in the best that Catholicism has to offer. We’re not telling people what to believe. We’re just handing out food and clothes. This is a place where I thrive, a place where I want to be. But what makes it different is this: I don’t need God to tell me I should feel good. I don’t need God to compel me to be here. And I think if my companions really thought about it, they’d realize they don’t need God either.

The definition of “confirmation bias”: Claiming that a certain turn of events is a miracle or a godsend or a blessing or whatever when you prayed or wished for it beforehand, while simultaneously ignoring the overwhelmingly large number of times that similar prayers or wishes went unanswered.

If you get what you want, surely God has blessed you. If you don’t, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. The random nature of when prayers are answered does nothing to sway your faith. Yet if, say, a parent treated you that way, you’d claim child abuse.

Beginning The Mission

This entry was written while I was away from home on a Catholic mission trip and subsequently placed in its correct timeslot. Line breaks generally indicate some amount of time between the writing of the paragraphs, as I penned these thoughts over the course of the day. I have not changed the content of this entry, save for minor spelling and grammar corrections.

You know how I know I’m not just going through an “atheistic phase”? A “dark night of the soul”? Because I wish it were true. I wish desperately that it were true, that I didn’t have to go from moment to moment knowing that one day it will all disappear. I know it’s not a phase because no matter how desperately I’d like to believe that the amazing, wonderful people I know won’t someday perish, never to be seen again, I just can’t. I can’t force myself to believe. There are so many reasons against it that it can’t be true… yet I want it to be, very much.

I had to lead the prayer before we left the church this morning. Thankfully, I’ve always been good at spontaneous prayer. Still felt really weird though. Felt like someone asked me to lead a prayer to Demeter, or Thor, or Quetzalcoatl.

I am an atheist in isolation here. A lonely stone in a sea of believers. And no one has a clue. I’m on my own here.

I also led evening prayer, and am apparently the go-to guy for prayer this week. Shit. One of the first things I lost faith in was the power of prayer. I never should’ve redone those journals [Note: I reformatted the reflection journals for this trip prior to our departure].

I don’t know what to expect from this week. Already I’ve had to conceal my non-belief multiple times, in the form of leading prayers and reading Bible passages. I might as well be reading from Harry Potter, for all the truth that’s in the Bible. And prayer to a nonexistent being seems like a big waste of time. I wanna relax and enjoy myself here instead of constantly entertaining a sarcastic inner monologue about all the church talk we’ve gone through. I’ll make an effort to do that tomorrow.

Thought from Mass this morning: When they say, “This is the body of Christ,” all I hear is, “The emperor is wearing clothes!”

Another Week

Well, the time has come once again: I’m to pass as a Catholic for a week. Remember the service trip I mentioned in my deconversion story? The one that got me started on the trail to a life of faith? It’s that same trip, led by my home parish of St. John of the Cross. I’ll be going with a number of other adults and a huge group of junior and senior high school students, some of whom I will be directly responsible for. These details are largely irrelevant; what is relevant is the fact that this is, in every regard, a Catholic event. We have prayer time built into the schedule. We’ll be attending Mass during the week. Discussions about faith will be the norm. I’ll be expected to plan evening prayer at least once.

I’m not looking forward to any of these things. So why am I going, you might ask? Well, one of my siblings is attending, so I’d like to spend time with them. But more importantly, I want to serve. Just because I don’t have God elbowing me in the ribs and saying, “Aren’t you gonna go help them?” anymore doesn’t mean I don’t want to care for my fellow human beings. If anything, atheism demands an even greater attention to human suffering, because there’s no great equalization at the end of life. If people aren’t treated justly here and now, they won’t be compensated in the future. So I want to be a part of bring about a more socially just world.

Nervous is probably the best word to describe what I’m feeling. I’m nervous. I don’t want someone to come up to me and ask my where I’m at with my faith, because I’ll be forced to do one of three things: lie, evade, or confess. Lying is something I try to avoid if possible. Evading is difficult. Confessing is the most ideal of the three, but doing so will lead to a much more involved conversation, one that I’m frankly not sure I’m prepared to have.

I guess there’s no real point to this entry except to vent. I’m worried about what will happen and kicking myself for thinking this would be a good idea. I’ve been away at college for years now, but the same youth pastor still works at the church. She knew me quite well back then. When the meetings began for the adult leaders, she instantly assumed that my beliefs were the same as before. And why wouldn’t she? I’ve given her no reason to think otherwise. I’m debating whether I should tell her or not. On the one hand, telling her seems like the honest thing to do. She thinks I’m someone that I’m not. But on the other hand, she was an integral part of my Catholic development. To tell her that all her efforts ultimately did nothing to prevent my departure form the faith may be an unnecessary blow to her ego. But maybe I’m over-thinking this.

I plan to write a bit while I’m away. I’ll post those entries when I return, but backdate them so they correspond to when they were written. Until then, peace.

Unshakeable

Tonight I attended a training session designed to educate me about child abuse. I needed to go to this because I’m going to be working with kids next week and it’s required that all volunteers undergo training of this kind. Members of the Catholic Church put the training materials together (why I’m attending Catholic training of this sort is a matter for a separate entry, which I’ll hopefully have finished by tomorrow, but the long and short of it is that I’m going on a Catholic mission trip). I went in with no expectations. I came out shaken to my core.

I suppose this may be one of the many lines that separates me from the believer I used to be—or, if I’m honest with myself, might well have never been. We saw a few training videos that included commentary from actual sexual abuse victims and stories told by real, convicted child molesters. These stories were utterly devastating to listen to: children as young as two being taken advantage of; girls being touched by their pastors, priests, coaches, foster fathers; boys being touched by their teachers, uncles, friends of their parents; abusers who found themselves unable to stop despite repeated attempts to quit… the list goes on and on. One particularly horrifying story involved a boy who was already a “problem” student when the abuse began; he felt trapped by his previous behavior, because his credibility had been damaged and he no longer thought anyone would trust him. On the other side of the spectrum, one of the perpetrators told his story on screen as a bearded adult, but ended it with the revelation that he was 15 when he was caught, thereby implying that he’d been in prison or rehabilitation since that time. Every story was heart wrenching. I became simultaneously horrified and furious: what sort of world is this that we live in where these things happen?

And as these emotions hit me, so too did something familiar: doubt. I remembered the doubts I’d faced many months ago, and the fact that some of them had come about because of similar situations. I’d hear about some kind of ghastly violence or terrible disaster, and I’d gaze upward and wonder, “Would a good God let this happen?” As I sat reminiscing, the rest of the class began discussing the films. I was easily the youngest person there, and undoubtedly the only non-believer. After all, this was a Catholic event: why would anyone who didn’t believe in God be present? But, again, that’s a story for another time. I noticed that instead of any expressions of uncertainty about God, everyone seemed quite able to fit sexual abuse into their Catholic worldview.

This may all seem trivial, but allow me to make my point: these stories of child abuse did not cause the die-hard Catholics in the room to question their God in the least (as far as I was able to tell). But that same stimulus, when shown to an atheist, made me wonder how anyone could believe in a perfectly good God (and I say this with full awareness of my own past faith). I was sitting there asking myself how I could’ve ever thought God was watching out for humanity, while everyone else was perfectly fine with letting God permit such despicable evil.

What justification can there be for sexual abuse of children? What possible reason could God have for letting innocent children be abused? I’m aware of the stock answers: free will, opportunities for others to be caring, unknown purposes, and so on, but (as is likely obvious) none of these answers satisfy me.

Perhaps they never did. Perhaps my faith was never as strong as I thought it was. But I’m ok with that now, because I can stand behind one thing that I’m very proud to say: I will not make excuses for a God who does nothing to prevent the sexual abuse of children.