Our high school
diarist recalls his unceremonious ejection from his
church just as he was ready for
confirmation—excommunication without ritual. It
shook his faith in the church, but not in God.
Satre is a junior at Notre Dame Academy, a private
Catholic high school in Middleburg, Va., and the founder
of the Virginia LGBT activist group Equality
Fauquier-Culpeper. He writes regular journal
entries for The Advocate.
Excommunication may be the most violent word in
the intricate vocabulary of Catholicism.
Although the
Catholic Church has specific doctrine for the process
and analysis of excommunication, some petty diocesan priests
have bestowed upon themselves the responsibility of
performing the deed, something I have myself
experienced.
We have come to a
point in history when ceremony and ritual have become
dying entities of the past. A gay couple in Tulsa, Okla.,
does not need to have their
relationship celebrated in a church to know that they
are married; their union is blessed by the minority of
society. Children need not be baptized to know they
are free to make their own choices from once being
pure; their only original sin is the stain of human nature
that binds them to the animal instinct.
I have
a solid memory of being told—by a
white-collared, black-clad priest of about 30
years—that I was not welcome in the church because
of my position on homosexuality. He stood keenly over
me, forcing me to cower in the corner on a stark
wooden chair. “This church does not welcome
you,” he repeated to me in as flamboyant a voice as
he could muster.
I have such a
dark memory of eighth grade. I had been studying since the
beginning of the school year to receive the Sacrament of
Confirmation in the Catholic Church. I was stoked.
This would officially confirm me into the church as an
adult ready to take on the responsibilities of a
Christian life.
Earlier that year
I had been outed by my school’s administration to my
parents and to what seemed like the world. Now I was facing
the pain of getting used to a new life—a
brutally honest life to the community around me. Was
it on the news? Everyone knew that I was gay—or at
least my experiences that year made me feel that way.
Why did all these people seem to care? And why did
others not care at all? There were so many questions
that no one could answer.
At the same time
I was off twice a week—in addition to daily religion
class—to train for Confirmation. I learned so much at
these classes. I learned how to dodge blatant hatred,
how to avoid being brutally beaten by various cliques
of jocks. I acquired the skill of tactfully
sneaking away from groups, learned how not to choke while
being dragged across the floor by one of the staff
monitors, and even managed to develop an attitude and
a shell that led me to become independent of
friendship.
During a period
of five months I transformed into a different
person. No longer was I the shy boy who had recently been
outed and was so vulnerable to the constant letdowns
that small-town society inflicted on my little teenage
life, I was the man who was ready to start a new life
as an adult in the church, and I was about to become
a freshman in high school.
After I endured
five months of brutality from a community of all ages, a
priest shook my hand and told me in so few words that I
was not welcome in this church. I had passed every
class, taken every test, confessed every
sin—yet the smallest detail of my life became the
largest barrier between myself and the church.
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You can contact Satre at tully@tullysatre.com
or via his MySpace page at myspace.com/whitedeosil.