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Growing up as a first-generation student born to Mexican immigrants, my family and I experienced many hardships. Our transition to this country was a rough one, especially coming from poverty. Yet, what kept us going in these tough times was our faith, pushing us to persevere. We owed it all to Him for getting us through and allowing us access to the countless opportunities that we now have in the United States. My parents, in particular, instilled in me a strong value for education early on, noting an incredible difference in educational quality that didn’t exist in Mexico. So, when the opportunity to attend an arts boarding school for high school arose, I was met with overwhelming support, a chance to chase my dreams that I couldn’t pass up.
That said, it was far from an easy decision to go. Having only turned 14 the same month I left for my freshman year, it was a strange and anxious transition to say the least, taking insecurities from my past with me as I embarked on this new chapter. While some things were easier to deal with and I had many great things going for me, others proved difficult to navigate on my own. Specifically, I was experiencing what many others my age were grappling with: a fight for self-acceptance and love.
It started as an outside struggle. My previous school was an environment that had taught me that being gay would be a burden. It was an environment that either rejected your Queerness or fetishized it. While some struggles were immediate, I wouldn’t see the effects of my scars for a long time, taking years to heal.
Eventually, when you are repeatedly told how weird, wrong and defining your sexuality is, you start to believe it. My struggle for acceptance from my peers had turned into my own internal struggles, rooted in the homophobic rhetoric I would hear regurgitated around me. I thought that my worth meant nothing, considering I was cursed with the “burden of homosexuality.”
These initial thoughts, along with moments of adversity in my life, gave way to emotional spirals, brewing new insecurities that further invalidated my sexuality and existence. Eventually, this meant addressing the one thing I was too scared to acknowledge. It seemed like everyone had weaponized this to further polarize the existence of many Queer people.
My Catholic faith was never something I questioned growing up. In fact, as a Mexican, I cemented my faith as a defining part of my ethnicity and identity. My devotion will come as no surprise to many Mexicans. According to a 2023 Ipsos survey spanning across 26 countries in an attempt to gauge religious beliefs across the world, 71% of Mexicans sampled identified as Christian, while only 57% of Americans did. Additionally, from Catholic role models serving as symbols of resistance and liberation to influencing the morals of Mexican citizens, the ways in which Catholicism is embedded in Mexican history encompass many forms. This manifests in the shaping of politics, social and political movements, morality in society, education, societal expectations and more.
This particular value that derives from my faith is likely compounded by the fact that those born to Hispanic immigrant parents are more likely to identify with Catholicism and see faith as more important. Identification with and importance of Catholicism decreases in second and third generations. This showed in the religious attitudes of my classmates in contrast to mine. Many of my classmates from native born, Christian families had renounced their faith, believing it serves little purpose in their lives. For others, the primary way religion had any impact in their lives was through the celebration of holidays like Christmas and Easter (which one may argue are more American than Christian nowadays). My experiences note a trend that is again unsurprising when you consider the data. The Pew Research Center reports that those between the ages of 15 and 29, a mix of older Gen Z and young millennials, are most likely to be religiously unaffiliated. It also suggests that those who are younger tend to be less Christian and are more likely to renounce their faith later in life. The 2023 Ipsos survey also notes Gen Z individuals in the U.S. are significantly less Christian compared to baby boomers, with there being 13% fewer Catholics in Gen Z compared to baby boomers, who comprise 21% of the Catholic population in America. For all other denominations of Christianity, there is also a 7% difference in Gen Z compared to 31% of baby boomers.
It was with my classmates from immigrant families that I would see similarities in how their faith defines their identities. Similarly, they shared how this dual identity of navigating the U.S. with ethnic roots can brew insecurities of their own. Especially as a child, I felt quite disconnected from my ethnicity. I felt ashamed and “not Mexican enough” because I wasn’t born in Mexico. What largely contributed to make me feel less ashamed was the fact that every time I stepped into a Catholic church — God’s home — it provided me with a chance to connect with my roots despite being “away” from them. I saw the two as linked, each as defining one another and me.
As a way to express my gratitude, I always made an effort to enjoy each time I walked into church. As a kid with undiagnosed ADHD, the hour in church with no access to any screens or freedom to do anything else taught me the importance of giving time to thank God for everything in life. I am thankful for not only the impact He’s had on my life, but on the lives of those around me as well. It was my grandparents’ faith in God that allowed them to quit alcoholism, finding community in others of God in groups that showered each other with messages of strength and support. It was my uncle’s faith in God that allowed him to find the strength to overcome his depression and substance abuse. Seeing how impactful our shared faith was to my loved ones empowered me and simultaneously brought me closer to my roots.
Perhaps this attitude is a result of the fact that I was blessed to grow up attending a church that did not perpetuate any sentiments of homophobia or bigotry. I even remember one time, as a young child, asking my mom about the relationship God has with gay people. Reluctantly, I went up to the pastor after the service after she insisted I ask him instead. I was hesitant not because I was shy, but because of the possibility that my entire worldview toward my faith could either be affirmed or shattered in an instant. Instead, I was put at ease, reassured by him of all the things I knew to be true. I knew each time I walked through God’s doors, I would be reminded of the love that He has for all His children created in his image. The God I grew up with did not discriminate or deny anyone his blessings. You could turn to Him for guidance and hope. It was this hope I would turn to in times of adversity, giving me the strength to persevere. I was happy to feel so secure in my faith at a young age.
Despite this information I considered as fact, there eventually came a time when even I couldn’t escape these thoughts of exactly how I fit within my faith as a homosexual. Sure, my faith empowered me to feel confident in my ethnic identity, connecting me to my Mexican roots. However, a symptom of being the first generation to grow up with phones easily accessible meant my young self would encounter the online discourse and stigma around Queerness and Christianity. I remember seeing the reactions in various denominations of Christianity after the legalization of gay marriage back in 2015. According to the National Library of Medicine, Christian arguments against same-sex marriage tend to be based upon Biblical passages, and indeed this reflected quite well with the common religious talking points I saw that would be used against same-sex marriage, some going as far as to compare gay weddings to attending a “Klan induction ceremony.” Often, these individuals view participating in or tolerating homosexuality as immoral, such as former Pope Benedict XVI calling homosexuality “an inherent moral evil” and going as far as to ban homosexuals from becoming priests in 2005.
However, these arguments are often met with criticism. Many passionate individuals have long debated how one should interpret supposed homophobia in Christian and Catholic texts. Some insist on mistranslations. Many call these quotes outdated, intentionally misinterpreted or, if taken out of context without considering their historical implication and use, falsely paint a picture of homophobia. Along with those discarding their outdated beliefs that homosexuality is sinful after engaging with “loving, wise, gay people,” the room for reinterpretations could explain the increase in acceptance among Christians toward homosexuals.
But often, children do not see things from all sides. Instead, during a time of immense struggle in my life, I allowed myself to succumb to the homophobic rhetoric that surrounded me in person and in the media. I believed I was left with an unbearable reality, with few options to proceed.
During my sophomore year of high school, this reality hit its peak. While I was mourning the loss of a family member, I was particularly vulnerable and low-spirited. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I hated my sexuality, I thought my faith clearly hated me and, as a result, I was left with nothing to define myself during an age at which having an identity is the one thing we value the most. As a result of my weakened faith, I fell on extremely hard times in moments of adversity, unsure of how to cope with feelings that I would previously turn to God for guidance through.
Nonetheless, it is indeed to a miracle from God that I attribute my ability to overcome these struggles with my identity. I hadn’t realized it yet, but those moments of adversity make room for clarity, moments of liberation and growth lying dormant in the adversities life guarantees; Moments I had been denied far too long in an attempt to shut myself off from my faith based on bigoted arguments that invalidate one’s existence.
As I was entering my junior year of high school, I sought to improve my current state of being. I just needed some time to allow some things to improve naturally on their own. This paved the way for the immense improvement I was able to achieve. Older and more established within my community, I had learned my environment at school was close to nothing short of accepting. Going to school in an environment in which I could not only be openly gay, but also see others embraced wholeheartedly for all their differences was encouraging. In my vulnerable state, it was exactly what I needed to see.
Around the same time, I was invited to attend the Christian fellowship on campus, which met weekly. My best friend at the time invited me, speaking on how lovely her experiences with the group were. The adult sponsor running the group, my college counselor, had also invited me to an event, speaking on its inclusivity of those of all demographics, regardless of anyone’s relationship with God.
It felt like everything felt into place almost too perfectly. In this group, I made some of my most cherished memories at boarding school. Each week, we gathered together in the name of God and spoke on many of his messages, teachings and how we interpreted them within our lives. There were people of all demographics, from students in their freshman year to the health services staff, my RAs, teachers and others like me, in need of the reminder that God encompasses all people. I was met with overwhelming support each time I walked into the room — a place where I would come to have my most vulnerable moments.
Over time, I was reminded of the community in which my faith had fostered. Many spoke of the difference that God had made in their lives, attributing their moments of strength and perseverance to their faith. From those with mental illness to those battling addiction to those dealing with cancer, I was amazed and happy to find myself becoming grounded once again in what I knew to be true: My God is a loving one, giving all those around me moments of strength and liberation. Who am I to deny myself of that for any reason?
With my experiences being said, this sentiment had not been seen by the entire campus. A common issue we spoke about during our weekly meetings was this campus-wide sentiment against religion, specifically Christianity. I’m not exactly sure if it’s a symptom of a generation that is less religious manifesting on this small, progressive campus, but it was clear that, throughout the student body, some were skeptical and, to an extent, “hostile” toward those of Christian faith.
This phenomenon would commonly manifest in comments said behind the backs of students of faith, typically speculating on the moral compass of the individual involved. These remarks would be followed by typical conservative Christian stereotypes, denoting their faith as one that defines them as a bigot or secretly believing in bigoted sentiments. I was once met by a question from another student who was also gay and a person of color that stuck with me. A simple question, yet one that shook me to my core and reminded me of how I used to perceive myself: “You’re Christian? How can you be Queer and Christian?”
I am not trying to dismiss individuals who may have had their own negative experiences with the Catholic Church in the past. As someone who has also struggled with navigating the bigoted sentiments that persist from some Christians, part of how progress has been made in the past has been acknowledging these dark chapters in human history and confronting these truths head-on. There is no progress to be made if we cannot have these difficult conversations. However, many fail to consider how their critiques of the Church tend to be unproductive and can brew bigotry of their own. A common way this manifests is the inconsistency of selecting specific parts of a person’s identity to judge someone. At school, it would be intolerable to judge me for the color of my skin, my sexuality or my race. I never understood those who judged me based on my faith, instead of allowing those of faith to define themselves based on their character.
I would see this thinking justified in how Christianity has been portrayed historically, with the grim history of Queer people and the Church. Yet even this logic is flawed. For one, to do this would take away from the very real progress within the Church that should not be ignored. Despite nearly a decade since its peak controversy, more and more denominations previously opposing homosexual marriages have made incredible strides in acceptance. In fact, it was the faith of those who had been historically oppressed that empowered them to persist and lead change.
One of Karl Marx’s famous quotes describes this relationship well: “Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.”
While often imposed in negative contexts, in the case of Black Americans for example, it was this Black embrace of Christianity that allowed Black individuals to make significant changes within the Church, promoting messages that emphasized equality, perseverance and hope. Indeed, these facets of Christian faith became vital institutions in the African American community, transforming the Church into what it is today.
It’s disappointing to see the ways that society continues its hatred toward specific demographics using the same outdated sentiments. Often, I saw those critical of Christians at boarding school latching onto these anti-Christian sentiments without any real lived experiences of discrimination, polarizing those of faith to feel judged, as reflected during my time there. What those who judge people of faith fail to consider is the length to where this prejudice extends and the ways that Christianity intersects with minorities and their broader history as minorities in the U.S. There lies a fascinating, important piece of American history that shows the ways those of color were able to make change in previously hostile institutions. Even today, while more white Americans continue to identify less with Christianity, minorities in the U.S. have seen an increase or little change in those who identify with Christianity, further cementing this unique relationship.
For people like me, to attack my faith is to attack every facet of who I am, similar to how I denied myself of my faith for so long. A deep perspective of my ethnic culture and its values lie in my faith, as well as a deeper story in which coming closer to my faith was key to accepting myself as a homosexual and overcoming the adversities that followed. Perpetuating the gatekeeping of the church due to one’s identity denies people who seek the very real chance of finding community and support in areas they haven’t considered yet or they feel they can’t consider.
It was finding the Christian fellowship at my school that made a profound difference in reconnecting with my faith. It allowed me to break away from this echo chamber I made in my head that once defined homosexuality and Christianity in my eyes, replaced instead by sentiments of equality, love and acceptance grounded in my lived experience. I am optimistic that the progress within the Church will allow those like me to experience something similar, contributing to its continuous progress and empowering those to feel confident in who they are.
Statement Correspondent Edwin Osorio can be reached at edwinoso@umich.edu.
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