Go ahead, call me Thomas, I’ll believe it when I see it. My faith is not blind.
My eyes are open, my teeth are bared, eager to sink into god’s holy flesh. Make no mistake, I am ravenous and I’m here to feast.
But you invited me to dinner and served
only crumbs.
No wonder we’re so angry with god when we leave the church. We came to his house with gifts and offerings, we stayed, we waited, and still,
never even
got to
see him.
-
My god lives somewhere else. Everywhere else. Beyond doctrine, dogma, control, and greed. My god does not operate on the currency of blind faith. My god will prove it.
It’s only a sin to ask for proof from someone who cannot give it to you.
My god sings to me from the rooftops, with her whole chest, a ballad of enchantments. She dazzles me with sunrises, wishes come true, butterfly dreams, and fortuitous “coincidences”. She is the founder of the feast and the feast itself. At her altar, I see. At her altar, I sink my teeth in.
7 years estranged from the Church, I feel compelled to reclaim my Catholicism. To reclaim the ritual, the sorcery, the pomp, the circumstance. To cast intentions of reformation and revolution from within. To make the call from inside the house. And when I go back to church this time, god will be there. Because she’s with me.
And
you can’t
call me Thomas
anymore.
By Alexandria Salomon
My eyes are open, my teeth are bared, eager to sink into god’s holy flesh. Make no mistake, I am ravenous and I’m here to feast.
But you invited me to dinner and served
only crumbs.
No wonder we’re so angry with god when we leave the church. We came to his house with gifts and offerings, we stayed, we waited, and still,
never even
got to
see him.
-
My god lives somewhere else. Everywhere else. Beyond doctrine, dogma, control, and greed. My god does not operate on the currency of blind faith. My god will prove it.
It’s only a sin to ask for proof from someone who cannot give it to you.
My god sings to me from the rooftops, with her whole chest, a ballad of enchantments. She dazzles me with sunrises, wishes come true, butterfly dreams, and fortuitous “coincidences”. She is the founder of the feast and the feast itself. At her altar, I see. At her altar, I sink my teeth in.
7 years estranged from the Church, I feel compelled to reclaim my Catholicism. To reclaim the ritual, the sorcery, the pomp, the circumstance. To cast intentions of reformation and revolution from within. To make the call from inside the house. And when I go back to church this time, god will be there. Because she’s with me.
And
you can’t
call me Thomas
anymore.
By Alexandria Salomon