Yep, This Atheist Went to The Vatican

In 2019 I nonchalantly mentioned to a friend we were heading to the Vatican to hear an address from Pope Francis, and she immediately began crying. Literal, Beatles-style, tears that made the tiny ex-Catholic child inside me squeal “this is so wasted on you.” Catholic guilt persists, even once you shed the skin. 

I am the daughter of a former nun who was raised to be a “good girl” and a devout Catholic. Unfortunately these efforts failed miserably, and instead I was the kid who raised her hand in bible study class and asked questions such as, “If Mary and Joseph were married, why was it so crazy she was pregnant?” and “Where was Jesus from the time he was born until he was thirty? Did he know he was God’s kid?” Needless to say, I was no one’s favorite student, and was finally able to stop attending church at age thirteen after years of begging and pretending to be in an impossibly deep slumber every Sunday morning.  

At that point I officially became the heathen of a human I continue to be, living the pagan life of debauchery and devil worshipping every good Catholic fears their child will succumb to. 

I became an artist. 

I moved to Los Angeles, lived with my husband for seven years before we were married, and did not baptize my children. I have, in fact, moved so far away from organized religion that I actually wondered if we could just skip the whole “Pope thing” while we were in Rome. Is anyone really that big of a jerk? Yep, I am. 

The whole trip to Rome came to pass because my children are ambassadors to a nonprofit, and as a group they entered an international competition on mental health, and as winners they were invited with representatives of over forty-five other countries to the conference. I had reservations about how large a role the whole Catholic thing would play in, and when I received an email that children were invited to sleep in the church I laughed out loud. 

If you think I’m going to drop my female and nonbinary children off with a bunch of priests you are absolutely insane. Sure, I was probably the only parent cynical enough to lay a hard pass on the offer, but I stand by the decision and will fight anyone who wants to challenge me on why. 

The day of the big event we were all packed into the “audience hall” of the Vatican after being thoroughly searched and tossing our water bottles into trashcans outside, watching several children cry as they bid “Arrivederci” to their beloved Hydro Flasks. 

Once inside and comfortably seated in my folding chair, I I felt myself being sucked into the beauty and complexity of the massive work of art, The Resurrection by Fazzini, that loomed over the stage where Francis would stand. The 80 metric ton bronze/alloy sculpture was massive, and reminded me of a wild ocean wave with Jesus hanging ten in the center of the chaotic water. There was an intensity to it, an ominous creepiness I felt at home with in a Catholic church. 

I evaluated the Swiss Guards, colorful Jester-looking men who stand around trying to look terrifying with big axe-sticks but really just reminded me of the LARP nerds that used to dance around a fire and play the lute in college. Yes, I was a theatre major so I was well acquainted with such folk. 

We then waited for hours. Much like Beyonce at Coachella, or a Kardashian at a Sephora opening, they really wanted the crowd to be fired up and eagerly anticipating the Pope’s arrival with the vigor of a shopper on Black Friday. The problem, however, was the auditorium was filled with children and their parents so the room was actually brimming with hungry, jet-lagged monsters who had abandoned their water sources outside and really needed naps. The longer it continued, the more I wondered if there would be some type of child revolt and the Swiss Jesters would have to contain the children with their giant weapons and empty promises of communion wafers and wine. 

Then, just when several children had been heard screaming, “I want to LEAVE” between snotty tears, the man himself emerged and the crowd gave him exactly what he wanted. Every phone shot into the air in an effort to snag a photo or video of Francis slowly walking and waving up the aisle in all his glory. 

After a passionate speech in Italian about saving the environment, which I found fascinating since it felt more like a science class than a religious preaching, Francis sat with his friends on the stage and a tiny boy danced in a leotard to a Billie Eilish song. As the teeny tot pranced around I couldn’t help but imagine the pitch session for the day’s line up :

“Ok so first we will pack them all in and turn the heat up, leaving them sleepy and thirsty for like three hours. Then Francis will talk about the death of the planet for a while, kids love being lectured to on intense and scary topics so that will be great. Then we have an adorable little boy with a Laverne & Shirley haircut dance to a modern song about someone being trapped in a place they can’t escape. It’s perfect!”

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Everyone around me was invigorated, filled with the love of God and the thrill of being near the one who speaks to him. While taking one last look at surfer-dude Jesus, I caught the eye of the lone nun in the entire building, a petite elderly woman who was so tough looking I imagined she was an actual undercover cop with six guns hiding beneath her perfectly pressed grey dress. Swiss Axe Men? Nope. This little lady looked like she would take everyone down, Harley Quinn style, and I loved her for it. 

Despite my dark cynicism and skeptical nature, I must admit I did feel something intense and significant while I was sitting in that auditorium surrounded by ancient ceremonies and a world-famous influencer. 

Man, I’m so glad I don’t have to go to church anymore.