Conversions and De-conversions - Brutus, thou sleepest...

The articles about my years as a Fundamentalist Christian are particularly difficult for me to write about. I think I cold write dozens of articles describing my years of attending Calvary Chapel, and consolidating all those disparate memories into only a few short articles is a bit of a challenge. Ultimately, my purpose in writing about these years is, not just to describe the stress and guilt I felt as a Christian, not just about the humorless ignorance that Calvary Chapel encouraged me to live in, and not just about the bogus apologetics they taught me to believe or the hypocritical behavior they engaged in. My purpose in writing this series is to explore why I converted into religious faith, and why I left religious faith. By 1990, simultaneous with my most fervent years as a Christian, I began to crack out of the ignorance that Calvary Chapel imposed on me. It took years, but the real beginning of my de-conversion from Christianity began out of necessity. I needed to learn a real trade in order to escape my life as a short order cook. My real education and my escape from Christianity finally began, slowly and tentatively, in 1990.

I can summarize my years as a Fundamentalist Christian in Calvary Chapel this way:

I was convinced that I had the exclusive truth about the nature of reality. Us Christians, especially those of us who did not rely on mere religion, but on our personal relationships with Jesus Christ, were the only humans on earth who had the unmerited favor of the Almighty, and had exclusive rights to eternal paradise through the Blood of Jesus Christ. All other humans were self-deceived or liars. Knowing their backgrounds or their stories was irrelevant. It did not matter what other religion or religious tradition they followed, and it did not matter why. It did not matter why they did not worship God as he One True God. The bottom line was that every single one of them was no better than Lucifer. Like Lucifer the fallen angel, they were prideful enough in the face of God Himself, to want to set themselves up as their own god. Non-Christians were guilty of the most heinous sin of all, that of pride, and they wanted to set themselves up above the heights of the clouds, to be like the Most High, and rely on their own wretched strength for their salvation. Anybody who did not take Jesus Christ as their own personal Lord and Savior was, in effect, spitting in the face of Jesus Christ as He hung on the cross. They were telling Jesus that they were good enough, and they did not need His blood to atone for their sins as the wrathful God demanded, but could face God clothed only in their own, pathetic, fleshly righteousness, which was no better than filthy rags before the Almighty.

This is what I truly believed while attending Calvary Chapel. I had confessed and repented of my sins there because I was miserable and unhappy, and I wanted to make something better of my life. It had nothing to do with Salvation. When I initially converted, I was not fearful of Hell. I just wanted to finally find peace and contentment in my life, and give it a sense of meaning and purpose. Calvary Chapel took these inner desires and piled on the baggage of Christian dogma. I was suddenly to believe that I would attain Heaven because of my Faith in Jesus. All others who did not believe as I did were damned, not due to God, but due to their own prideful lusts. The Truth was self-evident, but they were too deluded to accept it.

Believing this dogma was like hanging a millstone about my neck. I told myself that I was finally happy and at peace, but the truth was that I never felt more guilt in my entire life than when I attended Calvary Chapel. Most crucial of all, I lost my sense of humor. Christianity, as taught by Calvary Chapel, forced me to view nearly every human I came into contact with as a lost sinner, bound for eternal flames. It did not matter if they attended church, or even if they professed to be a Christian. I met many who claimed they were a Christian, but if I asked them about the specifics of salvation, sin, who Jesus was, or any other crucial matter of dogma, it was obvious to me that they were not really saved. They professed to know Jesus, but Jesus did not know them. They did not have a true relationship with Jesus, but were relying on their religious affiliation to do the saving for them.

I did not ponder too long on the uncomfortable questions that this dogma brought up. What about those who have never heard of Jesus? Crazy, I thought. I was certain that everyone in our modern world had heard of Jesus. What about those who were not raised in a Christian cultural backdrop? Pastor Skip once told us about his visit to India where he met a group of Sikhs. “They were still Sikhing,” he would chuckle. But seriously, what about people like them who were not from our Christian-saturated culture? I did not think too much about these questions. They were uncomfortable to me. Besides, God knew what was best, and He was a compassionate Father and all-knowing Judge. I had faith that He would ultimately do the right thing in determining their eternal destiny.

Questions like these became increasingly uncomfortable when I decided to enroll in the local community college. By 1990, I realized there was no future in odd cooking and dishwashing jobs. I needed to learn a trade, so on a whim I enrolled in a course in basic electronics. I finally had my foot in the door of higher education, and I started to meet people outside of my own social circle. At the age of 26, for the first time in my life, I met somebody who was not raised in the familiar traditions of Western Christendom. Trinh was from Vietnam, and everything about her was alien to me. Her thick accent was almost impenetrable, but we somehow managed to understand each other. I think I naively found her to be wild and exotic, since she was the first Asian I had ever really met. My curiosity got the better of me, and we became fast friends. One afternoon, over lunch outside the classroom, I asked her about Jesus. She did not understand what I was talking about. That was startling to me! Everybody whom I ever met, when asked about Jesus or God, gave some kind of opinion. They may not have been a true Christian, but they had an opinion about who Jesus was, or who God was. Everybody knew who Jesus was! But this girl from Vietnam, while she had heard the name, had no opinion about Jesus. She had as much opinion about Jesus as I had about the Buddha. That is, none. This Jesus character was not part of her culture, and she was not raised with this tradition, so why should she have an opinion?

Should I tell Trinh more about Jesus? I could tell a neighbor, a friend, a homeless guy on the streets about the salvation from sin that the death of Jesus gave us, and everybody would already have some basic idea of what I was talking about. Our culture was that of Christianity. Trinh was Buddhist. Since she did not share my cultural religious identity, I would have to describe to her, from first principles, about who Jesus was, why she was a sinner, and why she needed Jesus as her Savior! How could I possibly cross that cultural divide? It would be like her telling me about the Buddha – a name I had heard, but one that I knew nothing about. I was slowly learning how to view things from the point of view of over a billion humans whom I had never met. That was just a tiny step, just a tiny crack into viewing my Christian beliefs form another point of view, but it was a start.

“Are you going to talk to me about religion?” She showed her distaste by squeezing her eyes shut as if she bit a sour lemon.

“No.” I never brought up the subject again. I don’t think the thought that she was doomed for Hell ever crossed my mind.

Trinh was a whiz at math. I was terrified of math, and had never passed basic algebra in high school. I realized that I had to enroll in a basic math course if I wanted to continue studying electronics. My education began, but it was still tentative. I was still unsure of what I wanted to do, or how education was going to benefit me. Electronics did not really interest me, but the school catalog started to intrigue me. I could have a night course in Mexican archeology! American History! Creative Writing! Even as a lousy cook, I could afford these courses in the trade school! So one by one, on nothing but a whim and a newfound curiosity, I started taking night courses at Albuquerque TVI. I suddenly found that I missed all the reading that I had done in high school. After high school, I found one addiction in alcohol, then I found another addiction in Jesus. I did little of my own reading during this time, except for the Bible and John MacArthur biblical commentaries. The night classes in Albuquerque TVI taught me to be curious again. They taught me to be curious about dangerous subjects like history and sociology.

Back in Calvary Chapel, Pastor Skip taught me that curiosity in worldly wisdom was to be viewed with suspicion. Pastor Skip often spoke of his personal distrust of secular philosophy and psychology. He said that even Christian psychiatrists often had to do studies and readings of how the human mind works from secular labs and universities. “Why would I need to read these books of human wisdom,” Pastor Skip would preach, holding up his Bible, “when I have the Owner’s Manual right here?” Philosophy could be a good thing, Pastor Skip would say, since it literally means ‘the love of wisdom’. But true wisdom only comes from one source, again referencing the Bible, and secular philosophy leads to nothing but despair and sinful pride. Pastor Skip sometimes told us about his brother who once majored in philosophy. “He read all the philosophers, and came out more lost and confused then ever!” Well there you go. What more evidence did we need than Pastor Skip’s word on the matter?

Pastor Skip openly admitted that when it came to his Christian beliefs, his goal was to remain as ignorant and close-minded as possible. He did use those very words, and that really amazed me at a time when I was just discovering night classes at Albuquerque TVI. Pastor Skip implored us to read, study, and rely on nothing but the Bible. We did not need to bother ourselves with pseudo-intellectuals who studied the Bible as literature. We did not need to read about church history, religious thought or those Catholic church fathers. We did not need to entertain other ideas or points of view. All we needed was the Bible and the inspiration of the Holy Ghost to guide and teach us.

So for a short period of time, I alternated between two different ways of attaining knowledge and wisdom. Calvary Chapel insisted that it was by the Word of God alone, but at the same time my natural curiosity was being reawakened, thanks to some night classes at the local vocational school. I discovered that I was actually good at studying. I had an extremely long attention span, and I could sit for hours on end, doing nothing but reading, writing and taking notes. I followed Pastor Skip’s advice and read the Bible in its entirely. Then I read it again, cover to cover, in a different translation.

But I could also go to the library to check out some books assigned by my American history teacher. I particularly remember a shocking book written by escaped slave Frederick Douglass. My history teacher told us about how the Bible was used by Christians to justify slavery. “He certainly hates Christianity,” I would muse about my teacher. But I did not quit the class. As offensive as I often found American History, particularly my teacher’s condemnation of the role of religion, I did not drop the class. Instead, I went to the library in the attempt to verify some of the shocking things he said. Time and again, I found he was correct. He once described the horrors that the Spanish perpetrated on the southwestern natives in the name of Christ. I had never heard any of this information before! He told his shocked class, “Look, this is not a Disney movie. This is history.” I should have been offended, and I was. But I was addicted to learning more. If it were true, then I would have to deal with it. If I was to be honest with my Faith, I had to learn to reconcile this suppressed history, as shocking and offensive as some of it was, with my Christian beliefs.

It was a bit of a dichotomy. Pastor Skip, Calvary Chapel and my Christian beliefs on the one hand, and my burgeoning curiosity on the other. My high school education was next to useless. I had spent my entire high school career trying to avoid bullies and getting into a fair share of trouble. I had somehow squeaked through graduation after repeating my entire senior year and barely avoided repeating it a second time. I was given no educational direction from my parents, whom I don’t blame, because they did not know any better. I don’t think I was ever taught to appreciate the joys of education, or the thrill of discovery. I shuffled from class to class for five years at Albuquerque TVI, still with no direction, and with no intention of gaining a degree in anything. Some classes I excelled in, others I failed. I learned to face my fear of math. I enrolled in basic algebra, the same dreaded class that I had repeated and failed multiple times while in high school, and discovered that I had a natural affinity for it. I shocked even myself! I had come to believe that I was a failure at math, and that I would never understand it. It was a true self-fulfilling prophecy. I believed that I would never understand it, so I did not understand it. But I had no idea how talented I was in math, given a little confidence, discipline and attention. I learned to view the math problems as entertaining puzzles, much like crossword puzzles – and after much work, study and practice, I excelled. I was finally, after years of failure and self-loathing, learning to have some self-confidence.

Pastor Skip told me that confidence in my own strength was not pleasing to the Lord. I learned to repeat the wish of John the Baptist in reference to Jesus: He must increase, while I must decrease. Life was not about me. I was weak in my own flesh. I could do nothing on my own, without Christ who strengthened me. Of course Pastor Skip was right! I could see how lost we were when relying on our own strength! But when I pondered my own fleshly nature, and our lost and sinful state, I would sink into despair, guilt and self-loathing. There was nothing good about me, Pastor Skip taught, and I was wretched and wicked from my mother’s womb. Self-confidence only came when I was allowed to rely on my own strength, yet this confidence in my own power was offensive to God.

I was torn. Calvary Chapel taught me that I could not do anything. I was worthless without God. I had no power. I had to give it all to Jesus. Doing the seemingly impossible, by finally passing my dreaded math classes, and passing them after overcoming much self-imposed fear, was a tremendous victory for me. I was beginning to believe in, dare I say, myself. Just a little.

Despite my newfound love of learning, I was being pulled in two different directions. I could learn about the Bible, about Jesus and delve deeper into the meat of my beliefs, or I could rely on my own strength, develop some kind of discipline, and learn things in school, hopefully to lead to a better job, but ultimately just for the joy of it. I knew I wanted to study what I loved. And I loved Jesus. That love, I swore to myself, would never die.

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Voice for the Voiceless – a critique

Last Saturday evening, RoseMary (my wife) and I were invited by a very dear friend of ours to attend the Voice of the Voiceless Dinner 2011, which was a fundraiser for Annunciation House. Annunciation House is a shelter, owned, I believe, by the Catholic Diocese of El Paso, and staffed by volunteers.

Annunciation House is a hospitality shelter for undocumented migrants in El Paso. From their website

The undocumented are the heart and soul of the work of Annunciation House. It is a conscientious decision to see in them the Gospel call of treating the “least among us” as we would the Christ. Nobel Peace laureate and poet, Elie Wiesel, while addressing a group working with refugees said, “There is no such thing as an illegal human being!” If there be truth to that statement, if the Gospel be heard, then volunteers coming to Annunciation House must be willing to say to those who come to the door, “Bienvenidos! Mi casa es su casa.”

Our friend who invited us to this dinner, whom I will call R----, was also a volunteer at this dinner, and is heavily involved with the local Catholic activist community. R---- considers all her work for the undocumented migrant as a calling from God and a witness to her Catholic Faith.

‘Atheist’ is not a word I typically use to identify myself, but it is an accurate label. R---- knows I am a non-believer, but she does think that I do secretly believe, and that someday I will again proclaim the Faith. She has also told me that she believes that without God, she would have no focus or moral direction in her life. Also, based on everything I have seen, Annunciation House believes in the same source of morality. The application to volunteer at Annunciation House asks specifically for the applicant’s religious beliefs and backgrounds. The assumption is made that without religious beliefs, the applicant is not qualified to serve the poor, needy and destitute.

I mention all this because I want to write this article as a review of the Fundraiser, and my experiences attending as a non-believing outsider of a strictly religious function, not as a review of a political function. Here in El Paso, border security, immigration and the ongoing war just across the border in Ciudad Juarez are all very sensitive and controversial topics, and discussions surrounding these topics can get very heated. Most everybody has family on both sides of the border, so it is a moral, humanitarian and family concern just as much a political one. And in many ways, I agree and sympathize with the work done at Annunciation House, and I admire R---- along with the many priests and nuns who have dedicated their lives to these humanitarian efforts. It takes courage, commitment and bravery to work in a place that shelters people, some of whom are, for example, victims of kidnap-for-ransom gangs.

But for this article, I want to distance myself from the humanitarian and political issues surrounding Annunciation House, the Catholic Church, border security and immigration, and just focus this review on one thing: my perspective as an atheist attending a strictly religious fundraiser. I did not attend thinking I was an outsider, but as the fundraiser activities progressed, I could sense that my lack of religious belief was making the entire effort very distasteful for me. Even my Catholic wife, RoseMary, felt uneasy by the end of the function.

Rosemary and I arrived a little early at the Amistad Center of Santa Lucia Parish, here in El Paso, where the Fundraiser was held. Lining the walkway leading up to the parish were the Catholic ‘Stations of the Cross’, handmade by volunteers to represent the ‘Immigrant who is being crucified as Jesus was’.

Many of the Stations were made out of items found out in the desert: scraps of clothing, barbed wire and empty canteens. Some contained cartoons of brown immigrants being stopped by white border patrol agents. Some of them contained vague charges of racism. From the fundraiser program:

Upon entering the hall this evening, you walked through a Migrant Stations of the Cross. Each station’s cross was adorned by a parish group as a part of its Lenten reflection. The adornment of each of these crosses reflects a unique theme, a particular way in which today’s immigrant is placed on the cross. Parish groups have committed to taking these crosses back to their communities for further reflection and discussion during Lent.

Each station was annotated, in English and Spanish, with its religious meaning, and its extrapolated meaning for the undocumented immigrant. For instance:

First Station - Jesus Condemned to Death; Lack of Land, Food, and Word Force Migration.

Segunda Estacion - Jesus Acepta su Cruz; Los Inmigrantes y los pobres cargan el costo de bienes y servicios baratos y globalizados.

and the like. People were standing around and admiring these stations, so it was not always easy to take clean photographs of them – but here are some:







RoseMary and I sat down at the table reserved for us by R---- in the name of St Pius X Parish. RoseMary and I were the only people at this table who were not regular members of this parish, although we had both previously attended Mass there many times. Still, we did not recognize anybody there, and there were several curious nuns who approached us. I was afraid they would ask us which parish we were from and, not wanting to make a scene, I promised RoseMary to simply tell them that we were there as guests of R----. To our relief, everybody we met was very pleasant and did not pump us for details about our church attendance.

The Catholic church relies on ritual and emotion to convey any message it may have, and this was especially apparent during the opening ceremony. I cannot think of any other organization that would include a dramatic musical parade to open a fundraiser, but I consider that as evidence of the Church’s reliance on emotional spectacle. Just as the priest and his entourage parades up the center aisle of the congregation to begin the ceremony of the Mass, so in this fundraiser, the rear doors opened to allow the Stations of the Cross to be paraded up the center aisle to be displayed in front of the stage. The doors opened, the stations were solemnly displayed, the guitar slowly strummed and the chorus sang in woeful, morose, gloomy tones:

Were you there when they crucified my people?
Were you there when they fled to save their lives?
Were you there when they knocked upon your door?
Were you there when they thirsted in the desert?
Were you there when they put them behind bars?
Were you thee when they turned them into scapegoats?
Were you there when they tortured them for money?

This was sung once, very, very slowly, to allow time for fourteen handmade stations to parade up the center aisle. As each station made its way up the aisle, and as the song droned on, the theme of each station was read aloud:

“…Sexta Estacion: Veronica Limpia el Rostro de Jesus; Las polizas Injustas de Immigracion Perjudican y Humillan al Migrante…”

The final station was then followed by a giant wooden cross, which was also marched up the center of the aisle to the depressing musical strains, and planted as a centerpiece for the display of Stations of the Cross.

This whole sentimental display was a classic example of the Catholic tradition of burdening its participants with guilt. The ceremony is designed to make the Christian think of the Savior, crucified on the cross, dying to bare the burden for their sins. These particular crosses, however, were also carrying the immigrant, our fellow human being, who is being crucified on that cross along with Christ himself! The words of the opening song, told from the point of view of Jesus to his Christian followers, dictate how the Christian is to emotionally grasp these symbols:

“Were you there when they crucified my people (the immigrants)? Were you there when they fled to save their lives?…”

I can think of no other purpose for this whole mock Passion Play, the crosses, the singing, the parade, than to instill some kind of survivor’s guilt into each of us in attendance.

The Christian is to think, “What am I to do when I see people tortured for money, when I see them behind bars, when I see them thirsting in the desert? I live a good life at home with my spouse, kids and creature comforts, but alas, these poor have nothing! They are dying on the cross! They are the Others, marginalized by those of us Fortunates who hold the bulk of the wealth”.

Then the Survivor’s guilt sets in. This is what the Catholic Church, and the organizers of this event thrive on. Is there a proper and non-emotional response to this guilt?

After the opening ceremony, our meal began. It was a simple and delicious meal of beans, rice, jalapeños and corn tortillas – peasant food that I still love to eat. I quietly whispered to RoseMary that I was surprised they did not do a mock torture on the giant cross with a church volunteer to represent a crucified immigrant. RoseMary looked at me aghast like I told a bad joke, but I was not kidding. The center of Catholicism is the worship of one who was tortured and killed, and the continued reverence of those who are tortured for their Faith. Some of the Stations of the Cross featured political cartoons involving border patrol agents along with charges of racism. It would not have surprised me if the opening ceremony included a Mexican being tied to the Cross by other volunteers playing border agents and wearing Border Patrol uniforms instead of Roman togas.

After the meal, it was time to listen to the guest speakers. The first two were a reporter and a librarian, both of whom risk a great deal in their own personal lives to document the epidemic of murder in Juarez, and the corruption of the Mexican government. Both told many stories of the horrors they had witnessed, and I am awed by the courage of these brave people.

Next came the keynote speaker, the Bishop of the Diocese of Saltillio, Coahuila, Mexico, the “Most Reverend Bishop” José Raúl Vera López. The Bishop’s passionate delivery was heartfelt and emotionally urgent, in fact, his Spanish was so powerful and fast that I could only catch about every other sentence with the aid of an interpreter. He also spoke of the abuses of the governments on both sides of the border, of the dangers of hiding immigrants sought by Mexican gangs, and some of the trials faced by Annunciation House.



Again, I do not doubt the courage of these men and women, and I marvel at their dedication towards the cause of social justice. I agree with much, but not all, of what they stand for politically and morally, and I am convinced that they are sincerely seeking justice for their exploited and abused brothers and sisters. But like all who look to the authority of Jesus to justify their actions, they select Bible passages to pass their agenda and make Jesus whom they wish him to be. The Catholics who advocate border justice desire the Jesus who ministered to the poor and who cared for the sick. They have little use for the miracle worker, the judge of the world or the apocalypic prophet. The Bishop cited a portion from Matthew 25:35-40, one of the flagship Scriptures for the Jesus of the Social Gospel:

For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

The bishop, somewhere in his talk, arbitrarily inserted the word “immigrant” into the scriptural citation, as in “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these immigrants, ye have done it to me”. “Immigrant?” I don’t recall Jesus ever saying anything about immigrants. I know that most Catholics understand the point Jesus is making – that immigrants are among the least of the brethren of Jesus, so they feel free to insert that word into Scripture. This should not bother me, but I confess that it does, just because I have seen, over the years, the Bible and Jesus used to support every cause, to justify every position, to enforce every action imaginable. I do not believe the Bible has any “authority”, but those who do view it as having some authority, and to those who traditionally do not read it (like Catholics), do not understand that. I do think, they are being lied to in a very unconscious and subtle way. I do think that when a person of unquestionable authority, like Bishop José Raúl Vera López cites a quotation from Jesus regarding “Immigrants”, they will believe it – and that is just a recipe for abuse. Just as those same Catholics likely do not know the whole context that Matthew 25:35-40 is pulled out of, and not cited – the entire harangue of Jesus regarding the judgment of the saved sheep and the damned goats. These particular Christians of Social Justice want Jesus to be the caretaker of immigrants, but they do not want Jesus to be the judge of the damned – so they will pull words out of Scripture and insert words into Scripture to give themselves the authority they desire.

Again – I am not bothered by their own interpretations of Scripture. I am not a Christian. I do not care. But I do care when authority figures blatantly misread authoritative texts to an unquestioning crowd. It is a quick and easy way to exercise power over crowds and to make them act in the way the authorities wish. It is a power that is too easy to abuse. And I have seen it over and over and over again in my own life, and in my reading of history.

Here is my secular reaction to this tactic. If we must continually hunt and peck for the appropriate Scriptures to create the Jesus we wish, and leave all other Scriptures out, I say “What is the point?” The Bible and Jesus can be, and has been, made to say absolutely anything! So what is the point of using it as an authority? If these people have an argument to make in favor of Border Immigration, in favor of Social Justice, then I wish they could just make their arguments intelligently and factually, instead of resorting to manipulating Holy Books and claiming that as their unquestionable authority!

I do believe that sound arguments can be made for all these emotionally sensitive concerns, but I did not hear a single one during the entire Fundraiser. Instead of argumentation, instead of direction, instead of agendas and courses for action, we got high-strung emotion, guilt-laden ceremonies and meaningless slogans. The fact that no solutions to the Immigrant problem were proposed or offered left me wondering what I was being asked to do by the organizers of the Fundraiser! I could give money to help fund Annunciation House, but that was done at the door before we even entered the building. So what, during the ceremony, during the dinner, during the speeches, was I, personally, being asked to do to alleviate the problem of migrant abuse?

What solutions or proposals for action did the Bishop, the volunteers at Annunciation House, or the many priests and nuns involved with the Fundraiser have to offer for us in attendance? The only thing nearing a call to action was contained in the opening ceremonial song:

Were you there when they thirsted in the desert?
Were you there when they put them behind bars?

… and this is telling us to do… what? I know this sounds heartless on my part, but this is a serious question the more I think about it. I truly do not know what they were asking of us, beyond feel guilty about our own comfortable situations. Annunciation House has strict eligibility rules for volunteers, and working there is a lifestyle commitment that few of us can make. What were they asking us to do? Nothing that I could tell, except be aware, and be guilty. RoseMary understands this as another Catholic tradition. Even the most secular of concerns are wrapped in emotionally exhausting cermonies, pageants, and in this case, reminders of the “crucifiction of the immigrant”, with no plan to improve the situation, and no agenda items to actually alleviate the suffering of the dispossessed immigrant. The genuinely interested and concerned person who wishes to help is left with no direction on how to actually do so.

I thought, okay, we feed and care for the destitute immigrant. Then what? They keep coming. Did anybody at this fundraiser have any ideas about how to actually solve the problem from the root? Beyond vague references to “an equitable society” I heard nothing. RoseMary has told me many times that the Catholic Church is good at feeding people, caring for the poor and the sick, and ministering to the most needy. What they are not good at is actually solving problems from the core, actually dispensing medication before the sickness takes its toll, or advocating a political agenda to solve the immigration crisis. The Catholic Church views poverty, suffering and sickness as a virtue. Catholics believe that God allows suffering to occur so that he can allow his followers the privilege to be caring and compassionate through him. This is evident to me in one of the favorite slogans of the Border Justice Catholic, “No Human is Illegal”. The common use of those who cross the border illegally is “illegal immigrant”, but the Border Justice Catholic is loathe to use that term. In addition, immigrants are collectively and reverently depicted by the Border Justice Catholic as abused, despised and hiding in the shadows. In one broad brush, this crowd views all immigrants as despised. When I hear such broad generalizations and slogans, my critical mind starts to dissect them. I assume that immigrants are despised by those that are legal, but if no humans are illegal, does that mean that all humans are, instead, legal? What about the criminals, drug lords and thugs who actually commit the crimes of murder, torture and kidnapping? Are they legal or illegal? Or do they believe that “legal” and “illegal” are terms that do not apply to anybody? And if that is the case, why does the application form for Annunciation House commit the height of irony in requiring each applicant to disclose information for a criminal background check? In addition, RoseMary is an immigrant from The Philippines, so does that mean that she is abused, despised and hiding in the shadows? Is she hanging on the cross with Jesus and the rest of the suffering? Of course, I am being absurd in this wordplay, but I do it to make a point. The vagueness of the slogans that we were offered are actually as meaningless and emotionally charged as the speeches and ceremonies. Blame was quickly pointed in the direction of political authorities, the Border Patrol, and apathetic Christian, but nobody placed a word of blame on actual, drug smuggling, kidnapping, murdering, gun-toting criminals!

I do believe that this reliance on emotionalism and the vague reverence of the suffering is one of the reasons why no solutions to the immigration problem were offered. The suffering immigrant is revered as Jesus on the Cross is revered, and Catholics will see Jesus in the suffering, and will minister to their needs while they are suffering, but I do not think they have any intention to actually solve the problem at the root of the suffering. As I once heard Christopher Hithens say of Mother Teresa, “She was not a friend of the poor. She was a friend of Poverty”.

After the speaking, there was a closing ceremony. We were asked to sing along to another slow, depressing dirge:

For the dream I have today, I say yes my Lord, I say yes my Lord
To be a healer of the pain, I say yes my Lord, I say yes my Lord
Soy un serviente del Señor, Digo Sí, Señor, Digo Sí Señor
Y trabajo en los campos, Digo Sí, Señor, Digo Sí Señor

RoseMary and I left as everybody stood to sing along, in order to beat the traffic out. We were both emotionally drained.

Again, it pains me in a certain sense to write this critical article. But I looked online, and although I did see plenty of political critiques, I saw no religiously themed critiques. I do not believe that social causes done in the name of religion are above scrutiny, so I have sought to do so here. It has been difficult to put some of this into words. I love and admire these people and their social causes. We all have family across the border, and most of my friends are of the Catholic Faith, and I am lucky to have them in my life. I want to emphasize again, that I admire the courage of many of these Catholic believers, including our dear friend R----, who have dedicated their lives to this important cause. They have a spine that I will never have. I agree with many of their viewpoints regarding immigration. But I hope I have emphasized why I cannot agree with their strictly religious motivation.