I never wrote about this, although I’ve spoken about it publicly. My intention is not to attack Catholics, because after all everyone has the right to believe in what they want. Neither am I writing to promote any church, even mine. I simply want to reveal what made me re-evaluate my catholic faith 27 years ago. Perhaps it will help others in the same situation.

I grew up as all good Catholics. A couple of months after birth I was taken by my parents to be baptized. My older brother began and finished his studies in Catholic schools. My family’s budget didn’t allow me to do the same. When we would go to mass, I would feel like an outcast because my brother could go up front to eat the communion wafer, but I couldn’t because I hadn’t done my first communion yet.

But that didn’t stop me from attending mass at our local parish on Sundays, using crucifixes from my neck, and crossing myself, in moderation, when I passed in front of a church and during any other occasion which asked for a bit more luck and protection. Oh, and of course, I can’t forget the processions my parents would make annually to Aparecida of the North.

At 13 years old, our family turned upside-down. It’s a long story, but the conclusion is that my father cheated on my mother, left the house, and our relatively calm world collapsed. Somewhere amongst the nights of tears and death wishes, questions would come: Why? What did we do to deserve this? What about all the prayers, devotions, and candles we lit?

The priest would tell us: “Jesus also suffered. Who are we to complain?” Besides being no help, we felt bad to have even asked.

Then someone taught me to do something for the first time in my life: open the Bible and understand it.

What I found out and what it caused in my faith will be written in my next post.
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