Mama raised me a Catholic. I wasn’t forced or coerced to like it, but instead inspired by my mother’s example of piety and devotion. In high school, I observed how she constantly sought spiritual direction, offered her work to God, and heard mass daily without fail. Wherever she went, Mama strived to fulfill apostolic duties with a diligent heart.
She bravely lived out her beliefs when she spoke online against social injustices. Without flinching over personal attacks, she always lived her truth with dignity and compassion. I loved that about my mom—carrying interior strength and good for the people around her.
Two years ago, Mama passed away—10 years after my father died, too. Only after these deaths did I realize how faith kept our family alive amidst pain and grief. Through these experiences, I eventually discovered a deeper purpose to the Catholic faith, especially in Mama’s life.
In retrospect, this is the image of Catholicism I grew familiar within the confines of my home. Faith was my anchor, my compass. With this upbringing, I learned to believe that the Catholic church is the only paragon of good.
Prevailing truth
Today, I am learning this is a problematic belief. As a man-made institution, the Catholic church is sorely imperfect, as are its people. Embedded in its doctrine are filthy secrets disguised in centuries-old traditions of moral teaching. Regrettably, dust has accumulated through generations of the Church and we can no longer keep sweeping it under the rug.
In hindsight, there’s no doubt the Catholic Church strives to lead the fight for social justice. It is evident in our history of revolution against tyranny, such as EDSA People Power, and the present—a critical time to combat the looming fascism of the Duterte regime.
Since his presidency began, Duterte’s unapologetic perpetration of his “War on Drugs” has been collectively opposed by Church leaders. Convinced the Church must be punished for their dissent, Duterte is unashamed about using their own scandals against them. He knows the Catholic church is plagued with cases of financial corruption, sexual abuse cases, and hateful discrimination of the LGBTQ+ community. For the President, the institution that believes in repentance for sins is bound to receive the brunt of his backlash.
Is Duterte entirely wrong for pointing out the Church’s ills? Not quite. While I believe his foul tirades are irrational, it resurfaces important issues that must be addressed.
I have seen them for myself and heard it in the news. For instance, a bisexual friend told me how they cried out to God, asking if the choice to love someone of the same sex was so wrong. Like them, many of the LGBTQ+ community still cannot come out to their Catholic families out of fear of being disowned. Through an Ateneo student leader, I learned of a Theology professor who claimed that gender equality is “not even Catholic” and shouldn’t be prioritized in Loyola Schools campus policies.
Globally, there are stories of impregnated rape victims who were shamed by Catholics for attempting abortion and cases of child molestation by clergy members, as testified by victims who were almost too afraid to speak. I myself have met priests who preach about generosity, but use donations for personal luxuries.
The hypocrisy is pervasive. The Church that taught me what it means to love, fight systematic oppression, and believe in the inalienable dignity of man—is the same institution that has trampled on others’ freedoms and rights. This is not the image of Catholicism I grew to love. Or have I been blinded?
Questions of change
What happened to our “Catholic nation”? It’s gone. Perhaps, we were never really one. The thought that Catholicism possesses collective power over the country has become an outdated belief that calls for transformation. And yet, why am I still here?
I remain because of hope—a strong belief that the Catholic church still can and must change with humility over its faults. In a society that is no longer “Catholic,” we must constantly question how our enduring traditions are affecting contemporary society. Our religion isn’t perfect and it never will be. Still, we must continue to believe in its potential to be a force for good, not a weapon for oppression.
Church, it’s time we hold ourselves accountable for those we have hurt and oppressed. Let’s ask the right questions now: How might we create more inclusive spaces across all genders, ethnicities, and socioeconomic levels? How can we build a community for all and not just the privileged few? Ultimately, how shall we love the way God does?
This institution is wounded and imperfect, but so is every one of us. I have inherited a broken religion, and yet within it I found a kind of faith that endures in hope of a better future for all. I am still here because I believe the Catholic church is worth fighting for, as much as every human being is worth living for.
I know Mama would have said the same.
Cristina Batalla is a 3 AB Development Studies major and a Broadcast News Staffer of The GUIDON. She may be reached at crsbatalla@gmail.com.
