Blue

I went to Mass today, just like I do every sunday.

I knelt when I was supposed to kneel. I stood when I was supposed to stand. I said the prayers, crossed myself, murmured peace be with you to nobody.

I did everything right. And yet, I felt nothing.

The words sat on my tongue like dust. The prayers felt hollow, like an echo of something that once meant more. I bowed my head, waiting for God to meet me in the silence, but again, the silence did not feel holy today. It felt empty.

I closed my eyes during the readings, hoping maybe if I listened hard enough, I would hear something meant for me. A whisper. A nudge. A feeling.

But the words passed over me like a language I no longer understand.

The homily was about faith through hardship. About trusting in God’s plan, even when we do not understand it. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to hold onto it. But how do I trust in a plan that seems to leave no room for me?

I know faith is not meant to be easy. I have always known that. But it is not supposed to feel like this, is it? Like an obligation? Like I am simply moving my lips, performing a ritual that no longer reaches Heaven?

I took communion, letting the wafer rest on my tongue before swallowing. It tasted like paper.

I wish I had someone to talk to. Someone who understands. But who could I possibly ask?

There are others here who believe, yes, but none of them know. None of them understand what it means to carry both of these weights—to be hated by my own people for my faith, and by my faith for the way I was born.

The priest sees me when I come, but he does not know me. He smiles, nods, speaks to me as he would any other parishioner, but I wonder if he wasnt obligated, would he still welcome me? Or would he pity me? Would he take my hands and tell me to trust in God’s love? Would he tell me that there is a place for me in the Church, even when I know there are people who would rather see me cast out?

Would he tell me love the sinner, hate the sin? Or would he say nothing at all?

So I prayed. I tried, at least.

Lord, help me. I am lost.

But no answer came. I tried again.

I do not know what to do. I do not know who I am meant to be. I do not know how to carry this anymore.

Still, nothing. I opened my eyes and looked up at the cross. The figure of Christ, arms open, head bowed, the image of suffering and salvation.

I used to feel comfort in that image. I used to think, He understands.

But today, I only felt small. 

Maybe I am not praying hard enough.

Maybe I am praying to a God who was never listening in the first place.

I do not want to believe that. I cannot.

But today, I am afraid that I do.

And that fear is heavier than anything else.