Dear Bum Diary,
LAST UPDATED:
04.22.2025
By Gio Sotomayor
“I see a lot of new faces… the CEO’s of the church have come! That’s what we call the ‘Christmas and Easter Only’ people!”
Yesterday morning, Pope Francis passed away due to a stroke. He was the first Latino to hold the position and also arguably the most progressive. I was in middle school when he became Pope, and I felt seen, I guess. White passing Latino? Sign me up. I remember when Francis premiered as the new pope, lots of my Catholic middle school teachers were furious. He supported refugees, denounced racism, and accepted the LGBTQ+ community. With this and other Easter festivities, I started to reflect on Catholicism and why I abandoned that old road.
I grew up Catholic—forcibly. My mother was not necessarily devout; she subscribed to the suggestion that Catholic teachings reigned supreme, and that was that. I feel like it was fine. I was never upset by the idea of an almighty figure looking down on me, giving me blessings if I was a nice person—a very simple system that never troubled me. But growing up, no matter how much I strove to be connected, I felt antipathy toward the Church. I did always feel a semi-natural friendship with God and Jesus, but never so much the holy spirit, as I still don’t entirely know what or who that is. I was of the belief that they just made stuff up sometimes for the sake of it. I had this relationship with my grandfather that was so strong that it could only really be explained through faith, but was always where my authentic belief ended.
I was an observant kid, and I could easily tell adults would go to church whenever there was panic in their lives. They’d cry by themselves in the back of the church for two weeks in a row, then never to be seen again. Others were there every single week with a smile that looked synthetic and guilty. I would hesitate to shake their hands as the “peace be with you” section of the mass began. I saw that adults were getting money out of this, even though the Church was supposed to be charitable, or something like that.
I work at one of the area's most popular steakhouses, where Addison Rae and my local priest are regulars. I was once forced to take the position as an altar boy for that same local priest, and at one point I saw another priest's closet. Gucci loafers… Louis Vuitton bag and other luxurious pieces. Very fire, but a stark contrast to how I thought the Catholic Church operated.
I assumed there was some type of secret to understanding the ceremonial events every Sunday that I was never in on. In school, you’re always told of these great saints and religious figures who would have divine interventions at pivotal moments in their lives. It was subliminally suggested that this is a reward for their lifelong efforts to serve the Lord, which ultimately meant being mad nice and telling other people to be nice. God loved everyone equally, but he loved others more, sometimes. Being nice, though, seemed easy enough to me. I was a sensitive kid who cried over things like Disney movies and striking out in baseball. I thought everyone felt this way, so I treated everyone as nice as I could. The idea of becoming a Saint was extra motivating. People would even start to call me a Saint, so I felt like I would eventually earn God’s great blessings if I continued on that path. This is what developed a horrific cycle of being nice and expecting things in return, and not just for the good sake of it.
In kindergarten, I went to a new school; a Catholic school. It was so catholic that a church was connected to it. I remember being anxious. The previous institution of my studies was a daycare where my mom worked. So, to be somewhere that my mom wasn’t accessible with a quick bathroom break really shook my world. Fortunately, I had built up enough bravery to come to class on the first day without a tear. There was an activity where we all received a sticker. I was blue. And with this sticker, I was to find someone with a matching blue smiley face and hold hands. I immediately found this boy, and we held hands and waited for our instructions. During the awkward wait, I had tried to hype myself to ask this boy to be my friend. Sometimes when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. But when something did come out, I simply said, “Do you want to be friends?” Coldly, the boy turned his head and said, “No,” and turned his head back to the teacher. A tear fell on my face as my throat started to close up if I was deathly allergic to rejection. I hid it well, though, as I was aware that crying on the first day might’ve ended any other potential relationship.
My teacher came up to me the next day with the boy in her hand, dragging him like a body bag. She tells me that we are now friends, as the boy held a dramatic frown on his face. I was excited, I didn’t have to go through this transition alone. The boy brings me to meet his longtime friend. We soon began a small project, making tickets for their imaginary rock band. I asked to have a role in the band, where they both casually said, “You can be the janitor who cleans the throw-up in the crowd.” How the hell were they so clever?
Years go by, and as I finished up my time at this school, I put up with these two being considered my “best friends.” I attended every birthday with a gift and supported them through every middle school milestone. My mom grew frustrated whenever I would come home with a new story of nasty behavior. “Just punch them in the face!” I refused, keeping close to the idea that Jesus died on the cross and is now forever remembered and lives in heaven. I wanted something like that.
Instead, I have ill memories of middle school, high school, and a list of terribly unromantic relationships. I don’t necessarily blame growing up Catholic for being the cause of this, but I can see where I was misled.
At Church this Easter Sunday, my family had come together for the first time in a while. My mother is the one who declared this as law in our big family group chat. Right now, my family is experiencing some bad luck, and it keeps my mom up at night. I am not helping her anxieties as I am graduating after five years with no job lined up. Regardless, it feels like my mother just wanted all of us to go to church, and maybe say sorry to God, so he might reward us with some get out of jail free cards.
I never really was able to properly pay attention in Church. It’s chaotic and awkward. The ceremony starts with a song that no one but the pianist and his wife sing along to, and the priest walks up to the altar. After the songs, some readings are read, and then comes the Gospel. This is like the main event, where you hear a Jesus story. This Jesus story was the one where he came back from the dead after dying on the Cross: The Easter story itself. The priest then has his Homily, the chance to be a bit of a comedian and guilt-trip you. He questioned all the new faces and the lack of energy the crowd had brought. “Jesus had risen! If your dead Grandma came back to life, wouldn’t you be joyous?” This was followed by the point that the historic Fewsmith Memorial Church in Newark had recently been torn down because of low attendance. After this, the church goes around with baskets, two times, where you put your donation for the service. This was so genius. That basket was the most full I had seen. I would rather that money go to more community service or maybe a relief fund for my mom instead of some Gucci loafers. I’m sure something would be different if that were the case.
I don’t know what the future holds for my religious affiliation, but for now, it’s difficult to say I am Catholic. Everything is so divided for what seems to be such a powerful and loving community. People can’t even agree that Jesus was not a white person. Or, how people fail to realize that Christianity was a veil for imperialism for centuries, eradicating people and cultures that pushed back. There is no more community, and if there were, people seem to find better communities on things like Discord. I do, however, still have a relationship with “God”. I think bro is looking out for me. I still pray and am grateful for my limited and small amount of time here. And I don’t regret growing up Catholic at all. It has brought me closer to myself, more so than if I were not religious. This is all still weird, though, and I think my local church probably has like, eight years until it shuts down. I may be upset if it does.
- Yio