Take Me to Church

There is a simple truth that we must all face, we will die one day. That’s the thought that haunted my mind when I was 7 years old.
As I watched my grandma’ deseeded body lowered to a whole the thoughts of not existing terrified me. People crying the mariachi playing a sad song and the wind blowing all seemed like a perfect horror movie scene. Is this it? How can someone simply not exist? Where does everything they were go?
My parents quickly realized that they had to do something about my daily nightmares. We started going to church every Sunday. I must admit, I thought church was boring.
When I was 10, we moved to Las Vegas. My mom found a church and we quickly got involved. When I was 12, I started helping out in the church. I was in the choir and an altar server. As I got more involved in the church, I started liking being Catholic. My church was the best, everyone should be Catholic!
My faith grew more and more. Suddenly I wasn’t afraid of death. No matter what struggles I faced, the church was there to save my day.
My parents were in a group of 7 couples who would serve during mass and get together before and after church to study the bible. They would organize fundraisers and donate so all their time off work to church. Suddenly most of the events we attended during the weekend were church-related.
One day during lunch the head of the church group said he had been expelled from his position. He could no longer serve. The ladies from the church office had kicked him out because he was asking “too many questions.” I was too young to comprehend why; all I knew is that we were no longer going to attend that church.
I was disappointed in my church. Why would God let bad people in his church? Why are the bad people winning? Why would people steal from God?
I remember the last time I got to serve in the church. My eyes were heavy as I was holding up the cross. The bad people usually were sitting right in front of the mass. How were not moved, not only by me but all the other kids who just knew they were not allowed to serve anymore.
We never attended church on a daily basis after that.
My parents forced me to go to the Episcopal church, they had a nice choir, but I never felt fully comfortable. We also tried a Christian church, but my parents had their minds set that was always going to stay roman catholic.
When I was a freshman in college, I longed for a community feeling and spiritual guidance. I started learning about the Mormon church, and I loved their community. When the elders asked me to get baptized, I struggled, but I wanted to be part of their church. When I told my parents, I was thinking about getting baptized in another church they were displeased. No way could I ever get baptized in another religion. I guess I could’ve rebelled and done it, but what college student would want to live without drinking alcohol their whole life?
Then a period of confusion began. I was suddenly losing my faith. Maybe all of this is a lie. Why should we get rewarded afterlife? Maybe humans are too full of themselves to think that the universe can’t go on without them, so they invented heaven to fulfill their narcissism.
One day I was walking in the park and I looked up the sky. The air seemed like it wanted to speak to me. The look on the kids playing, the green grass, and the colors around me seemed to say something. I’m not a prophet, but I can only see what I see.
Faith is not a religion. Faith is believing. There is no bad religion there is no perfect religion. There is bad, but there is good. No one is completely wrong, but no one is completely right.

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