Easter has almost come and gone and I am once again reminded that I walk a thin line between my religion and my feminism. For the last month, I have been doing a lot more thinking about how sometimes my religion and my feminist beliefs conflict. I find it hard to believe that my God loves me but also doesn’t believe that I am a second-class citizen. Feminism and Religion have long been on separate paths but it time to see that the two can and should work together.
I would like to note that I don’t have many experiences with other religions besides the one I was raised in, which is Catholicism. I will try my best to bring in other religions and if I get something wrong please let me know.
It was a night I couldn’t bear to be home with my thoughts, so I ran to her. Down the street – the rough concrete paving the ground, paving a world that I felt might as well have been coming to an end – I was running away and running toward. Fleeing the family I thought would hate me if I told them the truth, I ran to the girl I had fallen for in secret. No one, not even her, knew why I cried that night. Running blind down the street between our houses, too young to even comprehend the new, strange desperation that pushed me, stumbling, a clumsy child.
I came crying through her door, and her father found me first, pulling me into his arms. He placed a hand on my head and prayed fervently, eyes closed, while mine remained open. Will Pentecostal prayers still bless a girl in love with the pastor’s daughter? Can they? I heard her come down the stairs, she reached for my hands and I fell into her, heavy under the weight of the world. It was a world I couldn’t explain, whispering “it’s nothing, it’s nothing,” over and over as she pressed her face into my hair. “Amen,” her father said. And so be it.