I wasn’t going to write a whole blog along with The Mother Sacrilege photo gallery. It speaks for itself. However, my abusers are lurking in my socials which I presume is to see if the assault of their prayers has made any impact on me yet.
I assure you, I’ve felt them.
All the prayers have done is validate my truth, my spirit song, which also triggered more of the religious trauma they’ve inflicted. The fact that these so-called strong with God and “at peace” relatives continue to sneakily look in on my life or try to intimidate me with “two-ring-only” phone calls proves they haven’t found another family member to abuse with their false love and bullshit concern for others well-being.
So, as I continue to heal loudly after a lifetime of suffering in silence and with anger that would smother hellfire, I am sharing more of my stories, my experiences, and why I am so against religion with an emphasis on Christianity.
This time, instead of just revealing the hypocrisy, homophobia, and oppression that my estranged Christian family used to further their psychological games to control me, I’m going way back and re-visiting my experiences where I willingly tried out Christianity.
It’s true; I gave Jesus as many chances as he claimed to offer humanity.
I’ve also been allegedly “saved” and dunked in shared pool water; I mean baptized.
None of which did anything to improve my life but still made me feel like I deserved to be treated like Judas. Juda? I know there are legions of countless adult children who suffer from religious trauma like mine. I hope they find strength and community, as my experiences aren’t unique.
When I was in Jr. High School, I wanted to be a part of my Black culture and community so badly that I changed everything I knew about myself to be included and learn more about Black history as my parents only touted and warped the lessons of Martin Luther King Jr. Instead of having parents that educated themselves on other Black and eccentric civil rights activists to help understand me or to even accurately answer my many questions by learning the lives of James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, and Marsha P. Thompson for themselves, they preferred limited easy, pre-packaged ideas they gathered from the Bible and their Christian family members. Hell! Choosing to have bi-racial children, it should have been my parents who gathered knowledge and shared the wisdom of Angela King to help us navigate a problematic existence instead of throwing their bi-racial children into the world with no sense of belonging.
In the early and mid-90s, most of my Black peers often shared that they went to church and conveyed themselves as confident, strong, and tough Black kids in a town where Black and Brown people were each other’s enemies. I wanted to embody such self-conviction, so they told me I needed to go to church with them, and if I got “saved,” I’ll find myself within Jesus.
I told my dad about it, and he proudly used the opportunity to show his mom that he was doing an excellent job raising me and took me to a church recommended by a classmate. It was the most boring and confusing experience of my life, and other than the music, I couldn’t comprehend what the fuck preacher was talking about. So I disassociated, which left me with questions about the importance of Christianity for my dad, who loved him some Jesus without ever explaining why.
I asked him why he didn’t attend church every Sunday like his Mom. He said, “You don’t need to attend church every Sunday to be a good Christian. Just be a good person. Work hard and suffering your whole life and you’ll get what you need.” He told me ” to respect my parents, ‘honor thy mother and father’ no matter what, and I’ll find the answers I’m searching for.“
I figured that was easy, but my spirit, my very young spirit and future me, was like, HELL NO! Still, I was so relieved and thought, Thank Goodness, because I couldn’t stand the idea of returning to that church my classmate recommended. Bitch wasn’t even there, which made it even more awkward. We were being looked at and side-eyed when the tithing basket was in our hands. My dad, who can never be humiliated, left a five-dollar bill that my mom later yelled at him for.
I didn’t give up Christianity at that point and looked for an even Blacker experience hoping that Jesus would make me a stronger-minded kid, so I began to take advantage of services at my dad’s Mom’s (My Grandmother’s) church in South Los Angeles.
Black Americans have a way of making everything beautiful, more flavorful, and robust. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that Gospel music, BLACK Gospel music is some of the most spirit-moving melodies I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. But, what ended up startling me wasn’t what I called “The Black Irish Jig” it was the seizures and writhing on the floor and speaking in the “tongues,” all of which in the same five hours the greasy, jerry-curled Pastor, whom I’ll refer to as Pastor Greasy, spoke against as it embodied demonic behavior. But, not when it came to the people writhing on the floor and doing that thing with their tounge. No, that was acceptable because when it happens in the church, these are God’s people so, it’s not demonic; IT’S GOD!
If you’re scratching your head, that’s how Christian hypocrisy works.
It was whatever back then for me because once the long-ass sermons were over, there were always friends and cookouts. My Grandmother’s church had some of the best community events that had my fast ass feigning to get to LA every weekend because of the food and them church boys were fine! It wouldn’t have been a big surprise if I had lost my virginity to one of them. But, it certainly would have been substantially more perverted and traumatizing for Grandma and my Parents if they knew I lost my virginity to one of them Church Girls.
As time passed and I found more comfort in education, questioning, research, and being Goth, I began to resent Christianity because of the deflection of questions about the hypocrisy in the Bible. I’d ask my Grandma, my Dad, and later my sister’s husband, the last of the Black family left all of the questions because I only believed in Black people’s experience with faith over my Jewish culture which was never consistent. And who feels comfortable going to white Christian places of worship anyways? Those just radiate televangelist vibes. All of the intolerance, racism, and homophobia with simply their names! Don’t get me started on Catholic Churches.
I loudly turned against my Grandmother’s church and especially Pastor Greasy when my parents went to him to beg for help for me and do some Christian intervention at my Grandmother’s home.
You see, to them, I was displaying too much evil behavior. They were afraid of losing control of me because they refused to try to understand where the angst was coming from. My Counselor was doing more harm than good. I dressed like the witches in ‘The Craft,’ played Marilyn Manson, and wore spiked collars. My Dad never opposed the misogynistic, degrading, and rapey melodies coming from R. Kelly or any gangsta rap I listened to. But, he rose some hell with me by stomping down the hall to my room when he caught wind of something other than R&B and Hip-Hop one day. He heard a Marilyn Manson lyric and…
“Not in MY House!”
He then threw out my clothes, which he didn’t approve of, to our family dogs to rip apart despite me paying for them with my own money.
It was then that I was brought before Pastor Greasy and was subjected to the faint smell of booze on his breath as he aggressively preached in my face, spoke in tongues at me, and did all kinds of rituals that were to remove the angry demons making my subservience so hard to achieve. All it did was make me embrace those demons within me even more.
After Pastor Greasy had finished his sweaty episode, I went outside to smoke a cigarette. My Grandma came to join me and apologized. But never told my parents that.
My Grandmother, my Dad’s mom, was the only woman he ever feared and respected. When she passed, I was disheartened to learn that she sent Pastor Greasy money she could have used for herself until her dying day. And, I swear, at her funeral, the motherfucker didn’t even remember who my Grandmother was, just that she was a faithful tither.
About a decade later, when I was heavily struggling with a toxic environment and trying to stay above water mentally and financially, I was desperate for relief. With no one to turn to, I knelt in my bathroom and prayed to God and The Devil for help. I mocked both for being so absent. But, not long after that, I gave into my situation and raised my own hell. I turned the tables on my toxic partner and found strength within by easing my fear and pain at BDSM clubs in Los Angeles. I embraced my sinfulness and thanked Satan for showing up for me in a way that God refused.
After embracing my darkness, my life improved and took a turn for the better. I wondered how I could get so lucky? But, I knew it was me not conforming to anymore religious abuse and fear of my parents. I was allowed to rest from my hardships; genuine love and support found me. Still, my parents and even my sister couldn’t help but treat me like a failure because I cost them money. My mom threatened to reveal my financial problems to my new partner to reclaim the money wasted on me. As my mother’s blackmail and humiliation lasted, I degraded myself further by becoming my parents housekeeper house for extra cash. She loved bragging about her “maid” and how she and my Dad were my saviors when they “helped” us during tough times and expected me to return all the favors before spending money on my kids or myself.
For a long time, my anger had me believing that my mom loved her money over me as part of her Jewish upbringing though my maternal grandmother was an atheist. As a child, she would consistently blame me for not having the money to help pay for my interests. She told me to blame my birth father when something couldn’t be afforded for me and told me to tell him to pay his child support. but, unfortunately, he was the stereotypical absent Black father. In the minimal time he did offer me, we had a blast talking shit about my Mom, and he enlightened me of her addiction as well as well as racism as the reasons for him not being more of a part of my life. I never fell for his excuses and ultimately resented him for not being there to defend me or simply be there for me as time went on. And, to this day, I am glad his last breaths were of his regrets.
Anyways, during those first years of relief, I caught up on reading and somehow got turned onto what I thought was a Christian Horror series, and read the “Left Behind” Books.
The Book of Revelations was always my favorite to read during boring sermons in the past. Let’s be honest; it’s the only part that makes the most sense and is exciting. I have always been obsessed with any apocalyptic scenario. But, ‘The Left Behind’ series actually scared me into more Christian obedience for a few years after reading it.
Amid the book series, I watched The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Later that night, I woke up to the smell of something burning. I was pregnant with Vagina Turd #3, so sleep was already hard enough. I got up to check the apartment and the other kid’s rooms. But the smell wasn’t there. I lay back down and there the odor was again! I looked at the clock, 3:00 am—the Witching Hour.
Look, I sent myself into Braxton Hicks Contractions watching the movies Signs and The Ring while pregnant with Vagina Turd #2. But this 3 am burning smell that only I could smell scared the shit out of me. And since things in my life had drastically improved, I worried it would be taken away because of the deals I made with the devil and my demons. And I didn’t want to give my parents and family more reasons to add to the list of Michelle’s fuck ups. So, I went all out Christian again.
There was never a time in my life when I tried so hard not to be who I truly am and I was PTA Mom and a Chola for two weeks in Jr. High. And even then, I couldn’t contain my divinity. Still, I pushed myself back into self-hatred, waiting for The Invisible Sky Wizard to fill me with the abundance of love, strength, and forgiveness to be the successful matriarch of a blended family. I wanted to prove myself to my parents because they were pouring every ounce of love and support into my sister while making me watch. I pushed my HubBub and kids into spending every weekend at church-one of those mega-churches at that, to prove I was killing it at the perfect suburban mother game.
I wasn’t, of corpse.
I will not outright name the scammer and harmful influence on many POC in California’s Inland Empire, but if you know, you’ll learn so; I’ll refer to the owner of this toxic mega-church as DD, which stands for Delusional Diego.
Ok, I outright named him.
This place claims to be multi-denominational to lure hopeless and helpless souls. Kind of like how many churches now claim to leave their doors open to LGBTQ people. DD would preach about his struggle and experience with The Invisible Sky Wizard when he almost or did die and was spared and subsequently cured of an aggressive form of cancer, so we all could too! As long as his congregation did as he preached and his; I mean, his sheep.
Sorry, his flock…
Ok, as long as his spiritually starved sheep continued to fund the 45 million dollar investment, because it’s for them, not him, everyone could have such an experience.
Throughout the year of being involved at DD’s place of business, I witnessed DD disdainfully preach about being able to heal the addicted, the hopeless, and poverty but the worst, what he couldn’t let go of was how he could cure homosexuality. At the time, I identified as Bisexual, so my spirit flared every time he would preach about saving Gays from sin as if it was a shameful choice to be made, a disease to be cured.
That’s when my HubBub pointed out that one of DD’s wanna-be three kings, his son, often projected queer vibes. I figured it was a non-denominational church, but I wondered if DD was so hateful of queers because of his son. His reputation was his everything. We gays often feel each other out, and once I paid attention, it seemed as if this poor young person was the subject of DD’s venomous homophobic rants.
I was starting to realize that I had made another mistake in thinking Christianity would further improve my life, but it was then that things became very dicey with finances, and there was always tension at home. Nothing about the following sermons felt right anymore, but I heard my dad’s lessons on how struggling will be rewarded playing over in my head.
From a tiny room designated for modest breastfeeding in one of the church’s many classrooms (I had to hide myself nursing and wasn’t allowed to do it in the auditorium even if I sat in the top back) I watched DD give out money to struggling members by having them oust themselves and make a trip to his big stage to accept funds to help pay their bills or use for Christmas presents. A walk of shame to show how he was their savior and using the church as someplace to help the poor and struggling. He pushed classes for members to attend from anywhere that inflated toxic masculinity and misogyny to women’s classes to ensure they all knew their minimal roles as servants to the heads of their households, men. Despite the many camps for kids and playgrounds, gifts, and coffee shops, DD went further to ensure that his 45 million dollar investment was for his sheep…he called his congregation sheep all the time. He knew wolves were amongst them, and my Divine laughed proudly at that, for here I am, exposing the hypocrisy and intolerance I witnessed.
The last straw for me and my family was when DD was in a mood and complaining about how he couldn’t buy himself a BMW because of what we members of his church would think of him and then admittedly acknowledged that he’ll lose members over the following rant,
“If you aren’t tithing ten percent of your income, despite how small it is, do not consider yourselves members of this church.”
This statement came after we were told we didn’t need to tithe our money but our time. Hub Bub volunteered as a media and Sunday school teacher every weekend. We only had one income and gave when we could. It wasn’t enough for DD. We needed to pay the bill to expand his 45-million-dollar mega church. Excuse me, our church.
That’s when my family was done and returned to being our horror movie and Halloween-loving selves. I went on to volunteer for my kid’s PTA and even worked as a lunch lady at their Jr. High. All were roles that were more spirit-filling and felt right enough for my family while it lasted.
My now estranged sister asked me why I quit taking the family to church as she liked me better as a God-fearing woman. When I told her what I shared with you, she told me because her Christian influences, her husband and his mother, told her we needed to attend a smaller church. Not to give up on it. We just did it wrong. She forgot, rather, she dismissed, my disdain for Pastor Greasy’s intervention, DD’s homophobia, and how he manages his business to cover the costs. I told her how the whole place was a scam to keep their tax-exempt status and only catered to members with money, exactly in way the City of Rancho Cucamonga boasts to attract a certain demographic of residents. Every service, from weddings to funerals at this mega-church, was performed for high costs to the consumer. How was any of that Jesus like?
Per usual, she ignored me while telling me I should have ignored the negative things DD preached and took what I needed from it because that made sense.
So it was no surprise but still VERY hurtful when our dad decided to get baptized at DD’s church many years after we left it and told them of our experiences there. Though my dad enabled much abuse and inflicted his own while I was growing up, he didn’t ask for much from me, so I decided to go and watch the show.
It was a spectacle.
To this day, and this was in 2019, I am so grateful for my Vagina Turd #2, who was home then and didn’t want me enduring that awful show on my own. I’m so grateful because he has never been able to hold back his loathing for Christianity, thanks to his MAGA-supporting classmates who considered themselves devout Christians and his own experiences at DD’s church and his Aunt and Uncle and his mother as a little heathen.
When we arrived, we died laughing as we took off and covered up our BlackCraft apparel, “Tucking the Baph,” as a friend and fellow Black Sheep put it when I asked her advice. When we approached the place where they were holding the mass baptism, I didn’t remember the gigantic question, “Where Will You Spend Eternity? written in gold above the thousand-people-sized auditorium in the days of my attendance there. But, what a way to lure in the hopeless, DD! Christians love invoking fear to expand their word, don’t they?
Inside, we were ushered into the auditorium by some poor, brainwashed kids pretending to be welcoming hosts and ushers. I told them my dad was participating in the show, and they tried locating him for us without asking me so they could seat us with the rest of my family. I had to get a little loud and said “No.” I was not ok with my sister or the “head of her household” at the time, my soft boundaries were in place, and I’m sure my mom had no idea what was going on and was talking through the whole thing anyway, so we asked to stay back as we weren’t staying for the whole thing.
But of corpse, the whole thing was DD spewing an hour’s worth of misogyny, how the man is the king of his family, how wives, mothers, and daughters need to be raised to be subservient to their men as he is the embodiment of God in every household. Nothing had changed. Vagina Turd #2 and I looked around and couldn’t believe the amount of women agreeing with him! We sweated through the trash as we tried to contain our laughter at the behaviors displayed to pass the time.
As my Dad did his thing, we rushed to the front to take pictures and happened upon my mom, sister and her head of household. It was sweet to see how proud of himself he was. But, to see my sister’s oppressor weep like a child because of it? That infuriated me because he’d always punish his son for crying.
Boys Don’t Cry!
Turning our attention back to my dad, he was dunked into one of three Intex pools on DD’s altar. It was a mass baptism indeed and quite…ew. I thought cleanliness was godliness.
Vagina Turd #2 and I escaped before being trapped into any more absurdity, and as we did, he screamed ‘HAIL SATAN,’ and we ran back to the car, put our BlackCraft clothes back on, and went to The Lemon Festival.
Not long after that, I found out my sister’s family decided they were regularly attending DD’s church every Sunday. During the Covid lockdown, she mentioned trying to gather in her neighborhood to watch DD’s sermons live with a blow-up screen on the street. Her behavior and opinions became very QAnon-like, and she even went on to make posts about her support of those struggling with capitalism already;
“if you’re struggling, not saving or investing stimulus money, and I see you buying shoes and seafood boils, your financial struggles are on you.” I tried explaining my empathy for DD’s queer child, but she told me to mind my family’s business and then blocked me on Facebook.
Until we moved to the PNW, my family still got DD’s fancy Christmas cards, where he proudly displayed his growing family and legacy—especially his grandsons. One was birthed from his even more in-the-closet queer Son, who is married to a woman with two or three kids. At least now DD allows him to dress how he likes, just like his cis-wife.
The last time I attended a family function was in 2019. I was guilted into it because one of my favorite uncles would be in from Atlanta. I always looked up to him, all of my uncles. Two of them were badass bi-racial dudes who were cool and rebellious. Though, I didn’t realize Mr. Snazzy from Atlanta could have cared less about my existence until at that family function when he went on a whole tipsy rant about doing an intervention on me since everyone was conveniently there. My Goth persona and obsession with Halloween would not be appealing to Black people and would come off demonic.
Though he wasn’t wrong about what I share and how I live, what gave this Nigga who was absent from my life for the past thirty-ish years the right to judge me based on my looks? My other two uncles defended me by saying I’ve always been weird. One even greeted me and said, “Hey, you’re goth again!” “Christian Uncle” conveniently didn’t remember because he was off doing his own thing rather than paying attention to his nieces but was now expecting us to always to gather when he came around and preach the importance of family.
Only for your wife and kids, Nigga! Thanks for ignoring me when asking for your advice and support to grow my influencer role. That was very Christian of you.
The most recent and worse yet display of Christian hypocrisy and hate from my parents and sister is when I grieved and said goodbye to my beloved Grandma Ella as she passed.
A slight digression…
Just after my Dad was Baptized, my mother was convinced to do it herself by the toxic Christian my sister married. His mother told ours that she would go to hell if she didn’t get baptized. My mom confided in me that she was repulsed and asked them what would happen, what they believed would happen when Grandma Ella passed because she was an atheist.
“They didn’t say anything but gave that look like I know what will happen; she will go to hell.”Said my Mother, who was offended by the conversation.
But a few days later, my Mother denied that she ever said that and went on to get Baptized and demanded my attendance with full support. I didn’t fucking go.
My sister and her husband never hid their dislike for Grandma Ella. Grandma Ella knew it too, but my toxic Sister and her husband decided it would be a good idea to disrupt her passing with their presence while she was saying her goodbyes to her family and friends. Imagine what their prayers for her sounded like as I’m sure they felt that showing up to Grandma’s moment of passing was a show of support for my Mother. The way in which Grandma Ella passed was also one I know their Christian way of thinking heavily disapproved of. That’s what my mother gets for taking advantage of me, thinking it was ok to dismiss my grief and trauma and invalidate me just to soothe her own comfort.
Without being able to lash out at me as Grandma Ella passed, my Mother did try to provoke a reaction by ignoring my hard ‘No Contact’ boundary. Again dismissing my grief and need for comfort. I asked to be left alone and told her to confide in her other daughter and her husband, for comfort, and she hated that! She even tried to intimidate me by having my dad call me and my HubBub with updates I didn’t ask for. My dad, who never respects boundaries as he feels emotions are for women, wouldn’t even respect my husband when told I was not taking calls.
“Respectfully, put my daughter on the phone!” He demanded from HubBub.
But, my HubBub, who has been everything my parents and sister refused to be for me, respectfully, stood his ground, unintimidated. And my dad hung up on his face. My mother begged via text to answer my dad’s calls. The audacity! My dad would never disrespect or undermine my sister’s husband that way and thus further pushed me to estrange myself from them.
You can’t scare me into your obedience anymore! No one can.
Like all those mentioned earlier, classic Christian hypocrisy is embarrassing to admit I was related to and one of the many reasons I chose to estrange myself. Christianity is the cause of humanity’s current condition, was invented to oppress and enslave, and was NOT part of African culture before colonization and slavery. To preach that women, especially Black women who seek knowledge and empowerment, are meant to be enslaved to men only furthers Christian White Supremacy.
Trying to be something so fake as a devout Christian dissolved my integrity, my finances and just never felt suitable to my spirit despite how hard I tried to be “good and repent for my sins.” I was enslaving myself to be part of a family that only seeks to fill their voids and self-hatred by abusing me and my children. Christianity and the lessons DD continue to serve my estranged sister have only strengthen her and her family’s ability to gaslight others. But through self-love, holding my rituals, and even my through my sexual liberation, I’ve found that I am my own God. Fuck being the bigger person, the oldest sister! I’ll say it louder for the Christian hypocrites in the back!
FUCK YOUR RELIGION!
For there is no heaven or hell to fear or attain. Satanism is fantastic because it truthfully acknowledges that humans crafted it. It was invented to mock Christianity and encourage self-worship.
There is no evil in loving yourself.
There is no evil in being a spiritual woman.
I am more attuned to the ancestors I didn’t know existed until their voices spoke through and loudly to me. Where we live should be what’s worshiped, the planet signaling her frustration by being abused and ignored. And the reality is, as she continues to defend herself against us, no mega-church will offer any sanctuary as they promise.
I am my own Goddess. I am my altar. I am in tune with my dark divine, which has been my guiding spirit all along. My empathy for everyone who had impacted my life helped reveal the cruelty of my abusers, who all carry the Christian card. Embodying my many phases, instead of being ashamed of them gave me courage and revealed that I have been feared and envied for my ability to be outspoken, and shameless of my evolution. My openness for change, to learn and unlearn throughout my journey is intimidating as those folks are too afraid of themselves and fear being wrong by society’s standards.
Being a Michelle Halloween, Mother Sacrilege, Queen Blaspheme is my weapon and my armor when fighting against Christian Supremacy. As a naked queer being, it’s my protest, and the way I stand in solidarity with those looking to Eat The Rich and help expose capitalism.
So, if my Blasphemy bothers you, keep praying for me. Keep looking in on my life. I hear you, feel you, and will shove it all right back up your ass with my giant Black Cock.