Blue

Logan called me a "bad Catholic" today. He was joking, of course. I know that. I know he doesn’t care about things like that.

But I do.

It was something small, just a passing comment. We were sitting around after a mission, and I made some remark about temptation or sin (I can’t even remember what, now), and he just smirked and said, "Look at you, Wagner. Some bad Catholic you are."

The others laughed. So did I. Or at least, I think I did, but it hasn’t left my mind.

I know I don’t fit into the picture of a "good" Catholic, not the way others expect me to. I try to do what is right, I pray, I trust in God, but what does that mean when I am also something that many of my fellow believers say should not be?

Does my faith count less because of what I am?

I don’t think Logan meant it in any deep way. If I told him it was bothering me, he’d probably grunt and wave a hand and say, "You’re thinking too much, Elf." But words have a way of finding the cracks in me and settling in.

Because here is the truth: I have felt like a bad Catholic my entire life.

When I was a younger, I was told to have faith that God had a plan for me. That I was made in His image. But if that was true, why did so many people look at me like I was an affront to Him? Why did even good, kind people hesitate before shaking my hand? Why was I never welcome in His house unless I stayed in the shadows, unseen?

I told myself their faith was weak. That they did not see me as God does.

But then I grew older, and I realized that it is not only humans who see me this way.

It is my fellow mutants, too. They scoff at my faith as if it is some naïve little game I play, as if believing in something greater makes me foolish. They tell me that no God worth worshiping would allow what has happened to us. That my prayers are wasted breath.

I try not to listen. But some nights, their words slip under my skin like needles.

And then there are the believers- the ones who think that faith and mutantkind cannot exist together. That I must either be one or the other, as if being both is some terrible contradiction.

They say I am welcome in the Church. But they say it the way one might say a beggar is welcome at the table, so long as he does not expect to be treated like family.

They keep telling me, "Love the sinner, hate the sin," but what is the sin they speak of? My existence? My skin? My hands, my tail, my fangs? How can I separate myself from the thing they despise?

And so I am caught in the middle.

Too Catholic for my fellow mutants.
Too mutant for my fellow Catholics.

And here is Logan, grinning, telling me I am a bad Catholic. And all I can think is that maybe he’s right. Maybe I am. Maybe I always have been.