I've been a Catholic my entire life. But the church's dark past is making me lose faith

This First Person column is written by Alyssa Aco, a Filipina who immigrated from the Philippines to Edmonton in 2008. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

WARNING: This column contains distressing details.

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. 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.

Lately, I've been finding it hard to be Catholic.

I grew up in the Philippines, where Catholicism is not only a personal religion but permeated every institution, organization and household. 

Before anything else, I learned to say grace before meals, recite all the prayers, memorize the details of Jesus's life and death. My crucifix hung around my neck, my rosary sat next to my pencil case. Schools in the Philippines have daily prayers, events are preceded with holy mass, catechism is on every curriculum. Christmas is celebrated for four months every year. Offices, buildings and stores are imbued with religious paraphernalia. 

For the majority of the Filipino population, being Catholic in the Philippines was something you are, not something you become. I performed every Christian duty the same way I breathed — automatically and instinctively. 

But if you dared raise a question or express a shred of doubt, mothers would hush you into silence and aunties would judge you and say that if you kept entertaining thoughts like that, you were headed straight for the perils of hell. Inquisitiveness and curiosity were banned, replaced by blind faith and unquestioning obedience.

Then I came to the University of Alberta in 2011 and was exposed to a diverse range of opinions. My curiosity was nurtured and encouraged by my friends and professors — completely different from my upbringing in the Philippines. 

My journey of discovery led me to the dark history of the Catholic church in Canada. I learned of the systemic and widespread sexual abuse of children by Catholic priests and the historical genocide of Indigenous people in Canada.

As 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. But it became harder and harder to make excuses.

I am profoundly disillusioned with the Catholic church. And I can't be the only one. 

I can't be alone in my feelings of betrayal and hurt. 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 could just forget about it, sweep it under the rug and keep attending mass like nothing happened. But that's like saying what happened to those children doesn't matter. That the trauma of their rapes and sexual assaults, the continuing effects of the residential school system, the pain and anguish experienced at the hands of people they believed were instruments of God ... none of it ever really mattered.