But that's like saying what happened to those children doesn't matter. I could just forget about it, sweep it under the rug and keep attending mass like nothing happened. How could the church that served as my guiding moral compass to goodness all these years be the same establishment that has caused so much agony and suffering to so many? I can't be alone in my feelings of betrayal and hurt. I am profoundly disillusioned with the Catholic church. But it became harder and harder to make excuses.
I learned of the systemic and widespread sexual abuse of children by Catholic priests and the historical genocide of Indigenous people in Canada.Īs a committed and devout Catholic, I found myself making excuses for these crimes and misdemeanours, convincing myself that it was only natural for the church to be flawed because humanity was flawed, and that somehow made everything OK. My journey of discovery led me to the dark history of the Catholic church in Canada. My curiosity was nurtured and encouraged by my friends and professors - completely different from my upbringing in the Philippines. Then I came to the University of Alberta in 2011 and was exposed to a diverse range of opinions. I performed every Christian duty the same way I breathed - automatically and instinctively.Īco, left, with school friends at their first communion at the Redemptorist Church in Cebu City, Philippines in 2002. Offices, buildings and stores are imbued with religious paraphernalia.įor the majority of the Filipino population, being Catholic in the Philippines was something you are, not something you become. Christmas is celebrated for four months every year. Schools in the Philippines have daily prayers, events are preceded with holy mass, catechism is on every curriculum. My crucifix hung around my neck, my rosary sat next to my pencil case. I grew up in the Philippines, where Catholicism is not only a personal religion but permeated every institution, organization and household.īefore anything else, I learned to say grace before meals, recite all the prayers, memorize the details of Jesus's life and death. Lately, I've been finding it hard to be Catholic. A lifelong Catholic, I went to Ticketmaster to reserve seats, but my fingers hovered over the screen for a while before I finally exited the website. When the Pope came to visit Edmonton on his "penitential pilgrimage," my colleagues were joyfully planning carpools to Commonwealth Stadium where he would hold a public mass for 60,000 people.
WARNING: This column contains distressing details. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. This First Person column is written by Alyssa Aco, a Filipina who immigrated from the Philippines to Edmonton in 2008.