Finding Meaning After Catholicism

I was kicking a soccer ball outside a house I was renting with four roommates. I had gone through 5 preliminary interviews to re-enter seminary, and I had one last interview with the Bishop left. It was more of a formality, really. Entering Seminary to become a Catholic priest was nothing new to me; I'd done it twice before. My acceptance was basically guaranteed unless I spit on a crucifix in front of the Bishop or something. 

I'd been a Youth Minister for the past three years. I loved working with the middle and high school students and teaching them Catholicism. But it wasn't enough. Perhaps I could become a married deacon, I told myself. It was starting to feel like a pathetic substitute for the deeper fulfillment I craved. I wanted to hold Jesus in my own hands as I consecrated the Eucharist. I wanted to baptize new Catholics. I wanted to preach homilies, hear confessions. 

I stopped kicking the soccer ball and just stood there. That's when it all hit me all at once: a priest had to have an unwavering faith he would die for, and my faith was nearly gone. My deconversion story reminds me of St. Paul's conversion. It happened all at once, but the damage to my faith's foundations had spanned years. 

As a youth pastor and even before, I'd met some happy gay couples. I'd felt attractions towards men myself (oh no!). I'd met people in different religions and wondered how they could be so happy outside the one true faith, Catholicism. People had challenged my belief that four men gave accurate, historical accounts of the life of Jesus. As much as I wanted to be a priest, a spiritual guru, a healer of souls, my lack of belief was incompatible with Catholic faith. I was trying to make a square peg fit in a round hole.

So I left. I called my Vocation Director on the spot, declined my meeting with the Bishop, and told him I was done with Catholicism. To say he was surprised would be an understatement, but he was gracious and encouraging. I left Youth Ministry too. And this left me in a scary place with a broken compass and no north star. I was completely lost. The beliefs that had supported me and given me meaning for over 20 years dissolved and were not replaced. A gaping hole of uncertainty and bewilderment took over. I felt like I was drowning inside, and to be honest I still feel that way sometimes. I always will.

I sometimes wish I had never learned that there is no inherent meaning to life, that we are all cosmic dust waiting for death. In the words of Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling, "if under everything there lay a bottomless void never to be filled what else were life but despair?" 

I have tried to replace the certainty of Catholicism with an acceptance of life's meaninglessness. I have visited the Unitarians and Buddhists; studied the Hindus and Taoists; read atheist books and watched many YouTube channels (holy shit, Satanists are actually not bad people!). But every time I try on one of these man-made systems like a new pair of Calvins, the very fact that I'm choosing some sham to save myself from the unavoidable truth of despair immediately shatters my resolve. 

Therapy has helped me chart a way out of this, and I'd like to share it to all who feel the same way.

1. Acceptance of meaningful experiences in a meaningless universe.

Most of us, despite living in this void of chaos, can share meaningful experiences. The reason they feel meaningful is just as elusive as the reasons we find some things meaningless. I'm not sure why spending time in nature makes me feel alive, but it does. Life sometimes feels pointless, but thankfully that's balanced with some love and joy. The yin and yang, or whatever.

2. Acceptance of the need for something to operate in this world.

It's not weakness to admit that some belief system, philosophy or theology will help us ground ourselves in this universe. While every system is broken, they help us feel less disoriented. There is no perfect system that can give us perfect lives, but we can lower that bar and seek better lives.

After this the sky is the limit. Nothing is more empowering than trying new philosophies, theologies... astrologies—hell whatever—without the pressure of being right. It's my life. Mine to enjoy how I see fit. And when others point out the flaws in our systems, we can even agree with them and say, "but hey it helps, right?" 

It's rather nice to let go of the iron grip we have on beliefs and admit we're all probably wrong about most things most of the time. I've found that those who defend beliefs so passionately are often the least confident individuals. There's a divine ichor in accepting limitations.

Another benefit is empathy. Instead of dumping unsolicited advice on my friends who feel lost, now I just sit with them. I know how they feel. I tell them I'm with them no matter what. We are all struggling. All we really have is each other and the love we share.