Religion in My Roots
From 1975 to 1981, I attended what was then called Human Resources School (today it’s the Viscardi Center). Once a week, students could leave class for an hour of religious instruction. That wasn’t just a sweet gesture. It was necessary. In the 1970s, many churches, synagogues, and other houses of worship did not welcome disabled people, let alone make their buildings accessible. Giving us that hour was a way of saying, your faith matters too, even if the world hasn’t caught up. And here we are in 2025 with the same problem existing.
Worship spaces remain some of the most inaccessible places in America. Stairs at the entrance, bathrooms tucked down narrow hallways, stages no wheelchair can reach. If religion is supposed to open doors to everyone, why do so many of those doors remain physically closed?
At home, faith looked different depending on who you asked. My abuelita prayed with fierce devotion. My mami, on the other hand, had a free spirit. I carry both inside me — reverence and rebellion, devotion and doubt.
Some Sundays, my sisters and I went to the nearest Christian church, no matter the denomination. Baptist, Catholic, didn’t matter. If the doors were open, we went in. Maybe my mom wanted some alone time on Sunday mornings or she wanted to make sure we had the “spirit” in us. I made my communion, and recited the Lord’s Prayer. I knew the rituals. But memorizing words doesn’t make someone a good Christian. Living with love does.
A Curiosity Beyond One Faith
New York gave me something else: exposure to other traditions. Many of my friends were Jewish. I learned from them, from movies, and from novels like The Chosen. Later, I explored other religions too. What struck me wasn’t the differences but the similarities. Each faith had its own rituals and stories, yet the universal message was the same: live with love.
That realization opened me up. No single religion owned the truth. Each offered wisdom, and each pointed toward compassion.
Why I No Longer Call Myself Catholic
Eventually, I stepped away from Catholicism. Confession was the dealbreaker. Why should I tell my sins to another human being when that person is as flawed as I am? My prayers are my direct line to God. No curtain, collar, or middleman.
And I respect those who don’t believe at all. Some people with physical disabilities don’t believe in Jesus or even in God. That’s their choice. And it deserves respect. Faith should never be forced.
That separation didn’t mean abandoning belief. It meant rediscovering it on my own terms.
Faith as Comfort, Not Performance
When sadness or fear hits me, I speak to God. Quietly. Directly. That’s enough.
I don’t keep track of the times I’ve given to charity or helped someone in need. If you’ve ever truly given from the heart, you know it doesn’t require proof. The world doesn’t need to see it because the love is already in your heart.
So when someone tells me they believe in God but supports hate, I know their version of God is not mine.
When Christianity Gets Twisted
I’ve sat through sermons that told women to submit to their husbands. I’ve heard entire groups condemned as sinners without anyone opening a Bible. Too often, scripture is twisted into a weapon for control rather than a guide for compassion.
That’s what makes today so alarming: Christianity is being used or abused to control the narrative. In a country that’s supposed to guarantee freedom of religion, hypocrisy reigns. The same hypocrisy I’ve witnessed within churches themselves.
Faith, Power, and History
History has already shown us how religion can be manipulated. Leaders have reshaped doctrine, erased teachings, and rewritten scripture to keep power in their hands. I remember hearing in religious discussions about how early church leaders may have altered teachings to make people more compliant. The debate around reincarnation in Christianity was one example that came up.
Whether that specific example is historically accurate or not, the pattern is clear: remove hope for something beyond this life, and obedience in this one becomes easier to demand.
And here we are in 2025. If you don’t believe what the leadership says, you risk consequences. That isn’t faith. That’s fear dressed in holy robes.
This manipulation of faith for power isn’t accidental. It’s a pattern that goes back centuries.
My Kind of Christianity
To me, Christianity is simple. Feed the hungry without a lecture. Offer kindness without expecting applause. Love people, even if it means loving them from a distance.
Because any religion worth following teaches us to live in love, with love, as loved people. Not to worship one deity over another. That’s why I can write horoscopes without guilt. People sometimes give me side-eye and say, “Oh, you smudge?” My answer is simple: Yes — and so do priests. Know your religion.
Why I Remain Spiritual
It would be easy for me to live in bitterness. As a woman with a physical disability, I could ask a thousand why questions. Why me? Why can’t I walk? Why do my bones break so easily? But spirituality taught me something different. I believe I have a purpose in this world, and it isn’t to spread hate or division. My purpose is to love, to fight for justice, and to remind others that Christianity — real Christianity — is not about memorized prayers or sermons of submission. It’s about compassion in action.
💬 Your turn: Do you see Christianity today as love in action — or as a tool of control?
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