With the intensity of Passion Week and Easter just having passed, the thoughts of church and all that comes with it are still very strong in my mind. Being as religious as my family is, the commitment to the yearly grind of 5 am starts on Easter Sundays and 8-hour services on Good Friday seems to now be the norm. Especially now more than ever.

I think it comes with age, but when I was younger I didn’t really put much emphasis on actually participating in church. At times I thought it was a hassle and boring, but seeing my parents age in the last 5 or so years has really made me empathise with why they’re so committed to something so controversial.

That’s what I think all religion is by the way…controversial.

It’s hard to believe that hundreds and thousands of years, of spoken and written word can still have so much of an effect on modern day people. I mean to be fair, every religion has its flaws… if it isn’t the teachings or the messages, it’s the people.

To many, its offensive to even insinuate that their religion has blemishes, but objectively speaking, it’d be hard for anyone to find a fully perfect faith.

Especially when you think about who follows religion in the first place. Human beings come from a variety of different backgrounds and hold many different perspectives. So naturally, the interpretation of something as ancient as religious texts, teachings, customs and traditions can all be moulded in so many different ways. Either way, it all comes down to paying attention, and that choice is why some people are so devout and others are not.

I first started paying attention when I was 10 years old. I remember the day because our church had just built and opened up our brand new cathedral out in Wattle Grove in Sydney’s West. It was a massive deal, we had a bishop come down from India and we had a big function to help celebrate. It was a big day for me as well because I was to be ordained that same day.

For those of you who don’t know, being ordained means to make someone a Priest, Minister or in my case, an Altar Boy. I was the second in my family, after my father, to take on the white robe. It was an even bigger deal to my parents because my family was one of the founding members of our now ever-growing parish.

It was a proud day for mum and dad.

Of course, I wasn’t the best fit for the holy life. 10 years old, untidy black hair on a dark-skinned lanky young frame coupled with a lack of discipline and general waywardness, sufficed to say it took many people by surprise when the Priest at our church had asked my dad if I was keen on it at all. They were even more surprised when I said yes…rightfully so, being I didn’t seem interested in anything church-related.

Nevertheless, I thought it would give me a new perspective on things, challenge me in different ways and it also seemed pretty cool as well.

The boys upstairs had great voices, they were always reading in this tune that was almost like singing but really wasn’t…if that makes sense?

They seemed like real life angels …calm, collected, busy and important. For the most part, the visual appeal seemed to have more of an effect on me than the actual responsibilities itself.

So you can imagine my surprise at all the work that came afterwards. No longer could I laugh or laze around. I had to ring a bell, read the bible out loud and sing, even if my voice was horrendous. This was all grouped with the fact that I was now on a pedestal that allowed everyone in the congregation to judge anything I did. My whole young life seemed to change.

I think I kidded myself into thinking that id ever be able to experience faith the same way again. With all the politics and rules I found it difficult to find peace and quiet in prayer, something I still struggle with to this day.

Its hard to say, but I think now it stems from a loss of faith in a manner of different things. The last couple of years have been a blur but the constant testing and fails of anything seemed to make the whole spiritual side of my life fade into a distant memory.

I never really fit in at church either. When the other boys picked up tasks and ideas quickly, I struggled. I felt like no one took me seriously …and as a result, I don’t think I took God and religion seriously either.

You see, growing up in a strong Christian faith means you live mostly in fear. There’s a clear-cut right and wrong way to do things. Culture and traditions are to be practised, taught and respected by everyone. If it’s not…well sufficed to say, that hell hath no scorn like an elderly brown person’s fury.

I think I reacted a little different to it though. I chose to be myself because it was easier than being like the rest. I chose to take it for what it was but never chose to take it as seriously as other people did. The hierarchy might call it rejecting “our way”, but I’d just call it keeping a fearful and mindful distance.

That’s not to say that the culture is bad or horrible. I just found the system and some ideas to be hurtful to the real messages. More so that the fear that comes with failing to do anything whether that be meeting expectations or not being able to do good by the culture. In my opinion, it muddled the true and fundamental teachings of Jesus Christ.

I struggled with faith because of two things. Fear and failure. That’s a hard combo. But my reasoning was sound. I had a list of things that went on in my life that really rattled my faith. Relationship breakdowns, family disconnects, alcohol abuse, loss in academia just to name a few. So it wasn’t like I was in some kind devastating rut. There was a real problem that came from not only a lack of faith in spirituality, but also in myself. I stopped thinking I could be anything. I accepted that every failure had become who I was. Which was wrong.

Failing is a part of life. It’s apart of you and me. It’s apart of all of us.

Faith is what gets us through it. Not just in some divine force, but in ourselves.

Over time I realised that if I was going to take a break from religion… from Sunday morning services, candle holding, bible reading, hymn singing, and more specifically, from the church, I needed to at least have faith in myself.

Because that’s one of the most important lessons that Preachers and Pastors failed to teach me. Funnily enough, though, it’s the most important lesson that the Bible is responsible for.

I’ve been an Altar Boy for 10 or so years. I thought I knew everything. Because of everything else in my life, the depression, the anxiety and all those toxic things that poisoned my body, I left my spirituality out and away. I scoffed at it. Because I thought I had the answers.

But the one thing I was right in, was that the world can be cruel and mean.

Culture, traditions, the Church… all of that couldn’t keep away any pain that I felt.

But that didn’t make it bad…because the real lessons were muddled up by falsity and hypocrisy. Finally, I found a real answer…God can’t always save you, but you can save yourself.

Religion is a way for you, as an individual, to learn and understand whats best for yourself, and that was the most important lesson Sunday School never taught me.

Faith drives us each and every day. Through struggle and through fear, we should never give up on ourselves…that’s something that no man in cloth could ever teach me.