Spencer Moseley

          Three men bore gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to a stable beneath the Bethlehem sky. They knocked urgently. Mary, picture-perfect holding her baby, motioned to Joseph to let them in. The men smelled of camel’s hair, body odor and lentils. They wordlessly placed their gifts before the baby, murmuring words in their own tongue.  Mary thanked them with a smile, and they left in terror. Their gifts appeared like the gifts offered by the ancient Greeks to appease pagan gods. If these rich men were that scared, Joseph felt he should be too. “Let’s go,” he said to Mary. Her face said she needed more convincing. "I dreamed of this moment." She looked at him and, for once, complied. He strapped the saddle on the donkey as Mary nursed the boy. Joseph wanted to kill him, and he hated himself for feeling that way. He thought of Moses smacking bare rock with his magic staff in frustration. Relatable. He grunted at himself in disgus...

          Nicodemus snuck out of the portico of Solomon as twilight dimmed over the Galilean sea. He had a heavy foot and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t heard or followed. His every step sounded thunderous to him. He found Jesus in a garden, smiling. His gait was carefree, and Nicodemus wondered at him.  “Hello, Nicodemus,” said Jesus, plucking a snow white lily. He had not turned to see Nicodemus, so Nicodemus wondered how he knew he was there. “Hi, Jesus,” said Nicodemus. His own voice sounded stupid to him.  Jesus sat on a rock, overlooking Jerusalem, and the filthy city looked pretty in torch light. Nicodemus perched nearby, an awkward ten feet away. Nicodemus had a question prepared and on his lips. He worked up the courage and stuttered through it, “Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “One must be born again to enter my kingdom,” said Jesus, turning to what seemed an automated reply. Had he had th...

“Lazarus, come out,” said Jesus, extending his arms toward the open tomb. The crowd, smelling of shit, stood there, waiting.  Lazarus emerged, covered in burial cloths blackened with blood and streaks of pus. The crowd gasped in amazement and started to dance. Songs rang out with shouts of, “Messiah, messiah.” “Why?” Lazarus wheezed, his voice barely audible through the burial cloths. “Lazarus,” said Jesus.  Something was wrong. Lazarus looked haggard.  “Fuck,” Lazarus screamed as he ripped off some of the cloth from his arm. Blood fell like rain as a scab reopened. Jesus remained calm but alert. The crowd behind them began to disappear as they went into Bethany to spread the news of Jesus’ miracle. “I’m sorry for your pain,” said Jesus. “You’re sorry?” Lazarus asked.  “Yes,” said Jesus. Lazarus let out a psychotic laugh.  “Why did you bring me back?” he asked.  Jesus paused and looked at him, “My father requested it.” “I was with Abraham in a place with no...

“Get out, get out,” she said, backing up far enough for his penis to exit her.  “What is it?” He asked. “I’m… not sure we should be doing this.” “What?” “It’s just. It’s November 26th. And I think Fr. Mike said something about two weeks after my period being an off time for sex... if we don't want...” “Ah,” he said. He quickly put on his underwear.  “I’ll check the catechism,” she said.  “No, stay here. I’ll go get it.” Chris Dunham found it on their creaky wooden bookshelf and brought it in. His wife had put on loose fitting PJs and they read the part about marriage and sex. But they couldn’t find anything covering post-period sex. They went to bed, groines aching, and agreed to go see Fr. Mike that Saturday after confession for clarity.  Fr. Mike left the confessional that next Saturday and saw them standing there in the empty chapel. It was Beth who broached the awkwardness and explained the situation.  "We can't afford another child right now," whispered Chr...

I grew up believing my whole existence was geared toward saving souls, bringing Jesus to others. I believed there was a divine plan so even if I couldn't see the future, I could believe that the future was bright and full of rainbows because it was in God's hands. Even if I had to "carry my cross", it was only temporary. Now I don't believe there is a divine plan for my life. I'm not sure if the future is bright and happy. I'm not sure if I will save any souls or if I am Christ-like. I wonder if I'm actually a bad person. So my choices feel less meaningful and special. Because I feel less meaningful and special. I'm not god's gift to humanity anymore.  There's a deep fear that will always exist too somewhere in my heart, no matter how ridiculous those beliefs seem now: What if, in spurning a belief in the divine plan, I somehow rejected a happy ending (no pun intended) for my life? What if God's plan for me did exist, and by rejecting t...

I received a text from a dear friend yesterday, and I need a place to offer a long-form response. If I could go back in time and be a Catholic youth minister all over again I would. And I'd have more fun doing it too. I remember getting criticized back then for using a youth group curriculum that wasn't presenting enough theology and for allowing social time: dodgeball, ice breakers, movie nights. I gave some timid, bullshit response back then, but now I'd give a more data based response: half these kids are going to leave the faith anyway because they're gay/bi/trans or want to support the LGBTQ community/women's rights, so might as well make sure they connect with it so they don't throw the baby out with the bathwater. From what I've seen, strict parents make wild college students, and strict religious upbringings foster amorality and relativism. It's to be expected. Why would someone with such a traumatic experience ever "keep the faith".  I...

Popping champagne scares me. I don't have much to say about it, but I thought people should know.  I believe in an imperfect god (right now). Am I on some road to believing in a perfect god or in Plato's eternal forms? I'm not sure. Maybe this is some slippery slope to MAGA, but I find some comfort talking to a god. I've resisted this for a while because I thought belief in a god would mean I'm weak, but I don't think that's true anymore. We're all weak af, so it's probably not bad to find things that help me function.  It's weird going back to god. He and I have a fucked up past. The god who gave me a list of rules to follow did not let me embrace my authentic self; and I had to follow his rules lest I end up, "where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth". So I guess my relationship with god feels a lot like my relationships with fellow humans—imperfect. So I've basically removed god from the traditional values that make god ...

Hi. One of my friends is going back to the ole Catholic faith, and that got me thinking. Do I miss that too?  I've been playing more Catholic hymns on guitar lately: I am the Bread of Life, Silent Night, You Satisfy the Hungry Heart, etc. DOES THAT MEAN I'M SECRETLY CATHOLIC IN MY SOUL (side note: tf is a soul?)? I find it hard to be alone sometimes, and that's when the thought of Jesus is most appealing. I'll be eating chicken in my quiet home with my quiet dog on my quiet sofa—wondering if somewhere out there, I'm missing something. Is there some God-shaped hole in my heart just waiting to be filled? Come fill me, Jesus. 😈 But the truth is, I just miss elements of Catholicism, not the whole thing. And I can have those elements and pick and choose things from it that fit me (love your neighbor, finding quiet time, developing an interior life); and the loneliness is going to be an ongoing project of leaning into it so I can grow and become more comfortable with the...

I spent last Sunday Church hunting. I used to despise folks who did that growing up. Catholicism is the truth, and its truth is within any Catholic Church, so why shop around?  I thought. I now see that no spirituality or philosophy is perfect, and deciding which communities to be a part of takes some searching, much like dating.  I'm quite done with Catholicism (see many previous posts, lol), so I tried a Unitarian Zoom chat. It was gloomy. An older woman, I believe a Reverend, was talking slowly about the role God plays in life. I did not stay in the chat long. She spoke with the same level of condescension that I grew up with, and it was less than ideal.  I tried another Unitarian chat. It was 11:15am on Sunday. It was a Zoom chat for a Church near Galveston bay, and it showed. Thick country accents and a hodgepodge of Reverends speaking over each other was very unappealing. They were praying for their parishioners and talking about how good God is. I left that chat as...

After my time with the Legionaries of Christ religious order but before I went to regular university, I gave the diocesan seminary life a try for one year. It was a strange year, and I don't spend much time thinking about this period of my life— probably because I don't have the safety of distance to dive into it. I'll still give it a try. The diocesan life was a far cry from Legionary life. I could own a cellphone, call my family and friends whenever, and the schedule was not so rigid. The time spent in Church was not so strenuous, and we had more freedom to make our own decisions. The seminary I attended was unique as it was on a college campus, so I was around girls in a classroom setting for the first time since middle school. It was in diocesan seminary that I learned all of my sexual humor and how to swear like a sailor. A priest there told me that masturbating was no big deal. We had time to play video games and could spend time on campus with fellow students. I appr...

Recently, someone assumed the worst, got upset with me, and attacked me verbally. I respect this individual, but it put me in a sour mood that I couldn't get rid of for a full 24 hours. It's painful to be angry. I felt tired, my forehead felt tense, and my chest was tight. I had my head slightly bowed all day considering different responses I could make to hurt this person and exact my revenge.  As I lay in bed, I turned on Sam Harris's Waking Up app (10/10 recommend), and his daily meditation invited me to wish loving kindness towards someone who hurt me. At first, I couldn't; but then he invited his listeners to consider how so much of why others hurt us comes from the fact that they themselves are hurting. I considered how this person who hurt me was himself hurting, and my whole attitude warmed. I felt my chest relax, felt my forehead wrinkles die down, and I felt at ease. I don't feel like I forgave this person at all. I feel like I understood this person, and ...

When I tell people I spent 6 years of my life as a seminarian, starting in high school, they often look at me in disbelief— their faces betraying a  "why tf would you do that" . Now might be a time to share some experiences. The Legionaries (LC's) were a militant, Catholic religious order known for loving the Pope and making loads of money from benefactors. All of us seminarians spent an hour a week writing to people we knew or barely knew asking for financial assistance. I can't speak to who the LC's are now, and I've heard they are a chill group of people now. We survived off of food donations when I was an LC. One time, the groceries we received from donors included chocolate ice cream bars that wouldn't melt in direct sunlight. Center Harbor, New Hampshire, where I spent my time as a high school seminarian, can get surprisingly hot and humid in Summer; but even NH's summer could do nothing against this strong, chocolaty boi. As I ate my bar, I ...

"Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it." -Words of Jesus from Mark 4:11 I hated most of my time in novitiate. I chose to be there, but high school seminary did not prepare me for this. In high school, I was told how awesome novitiate would be: developing a close relationship with Jesus, wearing a cassock, drinking. I didn't realize how infrequently I would be able to talk to my family or that I would spend the majority of those two years in absolute silence. Breakfast was a drag. We would sit there eating oatmeal after praying for an hour and a half (we'd woken up at 5:30 am to do this). All I could hear during breakfast was the clanking of silverware on bowls and plates; and spoons sliding on platters passed from novice to novice. Waiters would patrol the cafeteria and novices would get their attention by raising a hand when they wanted a refill.  Our days were structured in high school, but there were many departures from the daily routi...

"Our hearts are restless until they rest in you." -St. Augustine "Happiness does not exist outside the Catholic faith." -Anonymous I almost said, "quarantine has made me restless," but had to phrase it more honestly: "I have been restless during quarantine." There are moments when I am happy. Usually I'm lost in the moment and appreciate whatever is going on around me. But other times, I can't get there. I try to find a path to happiness, and maybe my chemistry is imbalanced, or my anxiety is too high; but I lose my creative approach to inner freedom. My synapses stay separated like the index fingers between God and Adam. I have heard from close friends that the only path to consistent happiness is Catholicism, which used to be my focal point of return in tough times. I would be miserable and remember that Jesus loved me no matter what, that he died for me. I would sit in front of the Eucharist and encounter that love. No other ...