Posts tagged ‘religion’


I fear our species

Is an experiment

To be eliminated

From our precious planet,

Greed and denial

Are the culprits,

Religions encourage

Our destruction,

Our mindset

Offers no help,

Our fate is sealed.

September 20, 2017 at 10:50 pm 1 comment


I am once again straying from the purpose of this blog to reflect on my human experience in this f—ked up world. This has happened before, and I can guarantee, it will happen again.

In regards to the Catholic Church, I envy those believers who maintain their beliefs no matter what they hear during mass, even if it goes against their knowledge, or what is revealed in the press.

I strayed from the Catholic Church for twenty years or more. But when my daughters were born I decided to reenter the religion, wanting them to have some religious education as opposed to nothing. If they continued to practice their religion into adulthood, it was up to them.

So my girls and I attended church. My former wife was non Catholic, but enjoyed the Christmas and Easter masses.

One Sunday, while my oldest daughter, Annie, was in high school she heard a sermon delivered by a deacon. She was so upset by what she heard that she refused to receive communion. I would later develop an intense dislike for this person by the nonsense he spewed. And all we could do, as a sea of bobble-heads was to agree or remain silent.

Time passed, my girls went to college, and I attended mass alone.

One Sunday, the priest preforming the mass announce that, for the following week, there would be homework, as in bringing a pen. That next Sunday there were post cards in all the pews meant to be sent to our congressmen pleading to vote against abortion.

My church’s mass had suddenly become ‘Big Brother’. The faithful filled out their cards and at the same time studied what all around them were doing. Those who had not done what was told were identified when the cards were collected.  I remember thinking, “Is this legal?”

I can point out other incidents making no sense to me. As the Sunday shortly after it was revealed that the priests in Europe and Ireland were molesting children just as our homegrown clergy. The second collection was to support the European parishes.

There was another incident when for weeks church members stood in front of the congregation and told how they were tithing to the church. Since doing that all of life’s matters had come to a happy conclusion. Eventually, the head priest announced that some parishioners him what he did with this extra money. He announced that he used to money in times of emergency.

What was I missing?                                                                                                                                                                      

I live outside Philadelphia and what tears me apart is the abuse of children by priests. When the abuse became known, the priests were transferred to where they could continue their despicable act. I realized there were priests’ acts I found repulsive, and at the same time, I was expected to confess my sins to someone performing acts I could not comprehend. If I had committed these acts, I would be jailed and considered a sexual pervert for the rest of my life. But if I were a priest I would maybe receive counseling and then off I go to another parish full of children.

Finally, I really get upset when I see my former parish drive crosses into the ground to represent aborted children. I firmly believe a women has the right to decide what to do with her own body and her future. Do I believe that abortion is right, no? But I also believe women should have the right to choose. And for some, this choice may haunt them for the rest of their lives.


August 11, 2016 at 8:22 pm Leave a comment


I wrote this article in anger and despair, then decided not to publish it.  But only today this article appeared in the Washington Post.

Here is another article which should sicken everyone, especially a parent.

How could my piece possibly relate to writing?  Easy, it is life.  And even when writing fiction, the roots of reality take hold and form the story.

I was raised a Catholic, my children were raised in the church, but I no longer attend mass.  I was frustrated, then sickened as I sat on Sunday morning listening to discussions I could not challenge.  Being told statements that were not true, or not researched.  Making no sense to what I knew to be the truth.

I once found comfort in the presence of the church. The physical building offered peace.  Even the smell of the church, in quiet moments of solitude, I found solace.  Now, I question this source of salvation I once held dear.  Wondering where the truth ends and the lies begin.

My faltering began with the first exposure of child abuse in this area of Pennsylvania, by priests.  I could not wrap my mind around such an announcement.  I realized that I was expected to confess my sins to someone, who potentially, had committed acts worse than I could imagine.  When the Philadelphia Inquirer published their first article about these unspeakable acts by priests from the pulpit we were told not to read the article. As it turns out, this heinous crime was being committed by thousands of priest all over the country, then revealed that this practice was committed by priests all over the world.

 I know that if I had committed these acts, I would have been jailed.  When released put on Megan’s List, and my life ruined.  Yet when the holy commit these crimes, they are transferred to a new parish where they could continue these unholy acts. 

During one mass after the revelation of these crimes, I listened to the celebrant tell us that pedophilia was a disease.  I would say a disease that should have been dealt with before too many innocent lives were ruined.  In reply, I would ask this question, “Does the church consider homosexuality a disease?”  For most of these acts come under that definition. Now every time the church I once attended plants small white crosses in the soil representing the thousands of children aborted, I wish they would also plant little black crosses to represent the thousands of children, living children, whose lives have been damaged by those they pictured as the holiest of holy.

I am sickened by an institution I once held dear.  I did not write this article gain attention, but rather, to explore a past my life once held important, but now causes nothing but confusion.    

March 15, 2016 at 9:34 pm 1 comment


I envy serene church goers

Never doubting, never questioning

What they’re told

Oblivious of the deeper truth

They fit into the mold.

February 5, 2016 at 7:50 pm 1 comment


My consistent readers,

Here is an unpublished poem on a subject that has caused me a great deal of thought and indecision.


The palms on the wall
Are a fitting tribute
To the state of my faith.
Although dried over the years
Of neglect, they still remain
A sign of past comfort and belief.

September 9, 2012 at 9:06 pm 2 comments


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