Picture this: Tomorrow every Catholic Church releases a statement in full support and encouragement of LGBTIQ+ people. A statement beyond the typical “we love gay people, just not what (or who) they do”. A statement that says “everyone welcome without asterisks”. There will be outrage, there will be celebration. But what would I do?
I am a queer woman raised and surrounded by a very Catholic Filipino family. They go to Church every Sunday without fail, have family prayer meetings on Wednesdays, and hold anti-gay beliefs. This is the world I grew up in — Catholicism a habit passed down through generations and culture. You can say that I “grew out” of my Catholicism the way a kid grows out of Hi-5 but that does not leave a psyche unscathed. Sorry, Hi-5.
Though I consider myself a “lapsed Catholic”, I can’t imagine identifying as an atheist. I can’t proclaim with conviction that there are no Gods or afterlives, whatever forms they may be. Still, if there were afterlives, I believe it would be secular like The Good Place or something.
When you grow up taking the Bible as gospel, as do the people you trust and love the most, it is difficult to tear yourself away completely. It’s possible that perhaps I have spent simply too much time around a culture of “believers”, with the belief in some greater power as a deep-seated habit I can’t shake.
"If churches fully accepted LGBTQI people, it would certainly make me feel better about the world," writes Margot Tanjutco. Source: Margot Tanjutco
I feel spiritually connected to the world and I think my history as a Catholic has made it easier to access those reflective modes of thinking from a young age, though the Biblical aspect itself is ultimately not necessary. The act and process of reflection is crucial to my ability to go about life and I think spirituality is important for our development as people, whatever form that takes.
When I say I am not a Catholic, I am purposefully rejecting the institution, congregation and all its built-in components of sexism, racism, and homophobia. Buy one religion, take five problems. When I say I am spiritual, I am embracing connectedness and conscientiousness. Sometimes it feels like my lapsed-ness is more attuned to boycotting a problematic artist rather than disliking their body of work regardless. It is natural to want answers in an uncertain life and there are times I wish I could believe a little more blindly, if only because it means there would be proof that there’s something more to life.
The phrase “lapsed Catholic” continues to be a favourite phrase. It evokes the Beep Test — running back and forth to beat an increasingly harder target to avoid some unclear consequence, or was it shame? That is, until I remember that no one in this PE class ultimately cares.
If churches fully accepted LGBTIQ+ people, it would certainly make me feel better about the world. Also, I wouldn’t turn down a free dating service in which everyone is presumably sober. Count me in for some Sunday morning speed dating! A quick Google search shows that there are a handful of specific LGBTIQ-friendly Catholic Churches but they are still few and far between. I want the mass part of a mass, I want the rule instead of the exception.
Currently, I don’t feel like there is anything missing in my life, which reveals what I think of organised religion — as a community builder for people who may not otherwise have a chance to connect amidst the isolations of contemporary life. I feel like the Church provides some answers to questions that I currently feel are personally, contentedly answered.
I remain in wonder at what is often described as a “religious experience”, whether it is mass or otherwise. That rare, transformative experience which can come from a show, a concert, a film screening, or just somewhere in which a collective of people have purposefully gathered to experience something with others who are in one way or another, similar to themselves.
If churches fully accepted LGBTIQ+ people, it would certainly make me feel better about the world.
I feel very far away from Catholicism now. I have not sought out religious connections with people my age and I am not sure I intend to. I know where the LGBTIQ-friendly churches are but I have not felt the need to go. And if I did start going, it would not be regularly. Like the way I would only go clubbing sometimes — I am glad they’re there but I have my own ways of amusing myself, spiritually or otherwise.
Still, there is a comforting certainty about religion that I would not mind a peek of every now and then, especially if it were a religion that institutionally accepted all of my humanity. The rituals, the shared iconographies and stories are comforts that cannot be underestimated. We all want to be a part of something and it is up to each of us how we will pursue those deeper connections.
Margot Tanjutco is an actor, writer, and media maker currently performing her solo show Vanity Fair Enough at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Find her on Twitter and Instagram at @margotxmargot.
This article was edited by Candice Chung, and is part of a series by SBS Voices supporting the work of emerging young Asian-Australian writers. Want to be involved? Get in touch with Candice on Twitter @candicechung_
