Your humble blogger was brought up protestant. Though I really can’t say that I was ever actually a protestant – or anything else…
I just never bought their bullshit from the beginning.
But for a while I really did try to make myself believe I did. Though my family wasn’t religious at the time (this would change in later years), I was shuffled off to Sunday school for a brief time when I was around seven or eight years old where I listened to the stories and sang the songs and tried to put it all together into something coherent and rational. But it never fit.
God just never made sense.
“That is where faith comes in,” they told me.
Well I suppose I didn’t have much of that because I became an atheist around the age of twelve and have continued to be one ever since.
And I learned quickly that it seemed to bother people when I mentioned that I didn’t believe in god. So I stopped mentioning it.
But this isn’t a blog about atheism.
My husband is Roman Catholic.
I’ve seen his christening photos (hopefully the last time he was in a gown), there is a copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church in our bookshelf, and I know his confirmation name is Michael (during confirmation the young Catholic man takes the name of a Saint as his ‘confirmation name’).
I have to say that I find ‘Michael’ far too boring a confirmation name – especially where there are so many interesting Saint’s names out there (Linus, Maximilian, Wolfgang, Sylvester). I told the Husband that I would have chosen poor perforated ‘Sebastian’ if I had been confirmed.
Yes, Catholicism always seemed odd to me.
On one of our first Christmases together he took me to a mass. He scooped up holy water and put it on his face while I stood horrified at the thought of the number of people sticking their grubby paws in that water (and the germs that would be swimming around in it) and then genuflected in the proper direction (North?).
I was the only person at St. Basil’s that wouldn’t get down on his knees during the kneeling bit in the mass (which are many) and neither did I cross myself…
And I certainly didn’t take communion.
Turns out that Catholics tend to notice when you don’t do these Catholic things in a Catholic church. I was looked at with suspicion as I thumbed through the hymnal looking for things that I disagreed with (I do that a lot).
“Why would anyone want to believe they’re eating the actual flesh of Jesus?” I whispered.
“No one really believes that,” he said.
“Not even the priest up front?” I asked.
As with my own childhood protestant church, Catholicism didn’t intrigue me (the way St. Sebastian always did for some reason). In fact, I found it just as repellent – I shan’t even get into the Catholic church’s stand on homosexuality or marriage for same-sex couples. And your humble blogger never returned to St. Basil’s.
So did our different religions cause problems within our own marriage? No, it really didn’t. No one is more tolerant than your humble blogger… and there was another little development.
Eventually my husband converted…
And now he’s an atheist too.
So I guess it’s not a mixed marriage anymore. Thank god.
Jeffrey, The Gay Groom