From Catechism to Coatlicue: A Journey of Faith

When I was a kid, like every other Chicano in L.A., I was shoved into catechism almost as soon as I was in school. I didn’t fit in very well; because English was my primary language and I was an avid reader I was always tasked with reading out loud. Unfortunately, I also had a mouth and a brain so I questioned a lot of the stupid shit in King James’ tome of myths. Eventually I got my first communion done and dad left it up to me if I wanted to continue onto my confirmation.

I did not want to.

This did not stop gramma from dragging me from this church to that. I loved the black church in inner-city LA lead by Brother Abraham. Black people have CHURCH, boy. I hated some of the other churches. Ugh, the Seventh Day Adventists were a snooze-fest. Then one day she dragged me to a Pentecostal church. There was a metal band and girls. I liked both so I stuck around. The pastor looked like Eric Clapton and he was smooth, so I kept sticking around.

To paraphrase Gandhi, I like Jesus I just am no…