Your Holiness,
Congratulations on assuming one of the most visible and significant roles in the world. I won’t pretend to match the depth of knowledge that high-ranking members of the Catholic Church hold — but if I were still a 13‑year‑old boy, my résumé might have caught some eyes. I completed everything from baptism to confirmation, all while attending the elementary school attached to the church. Not to brag, but I also acted in a Christmas play, served as an altar boy, and was adopted through Catholic Charities.
But I’m not writing in search of a position. I’m offering a perspective — one that might deepen the understanding of humanity and, in turn, help shape the kind of leadership the world needs right now. My hope is that it also inspires others to share their stories, so we can start learning from each other, rather than only hearing from those who assume they already understand us.
Most children growing up in the Church have no reason to question what they’re taught — especially when those lessons come from a place that’s supposed to be trusted. They learn the basics: love your neighbor. Heal the sick. Lift up the poor. But they also learn who to fear — and who to follow. That part — the dividing and labeling — slowly drains the joy that once fueled compassion. Especially for those who grow up and realize they are the ones people were taught to fear.
We were also taught about the seven deadly sins. But before even leaving church property, I’d see people showing off luxury cars, eating extra doughnuts, or nodding off during Mass. I heard the gossip about those who had more, the gym teacher calling me a sissy, and the priest who said he was leaving to pursue a love interest.
I stayed calm when I realized I was one of the feared. Pride and greed were celebrated. Wrath and envy were common. Lust and gluttony were ignored to spare feelings. Sloth was treated like a joke. The sin I was taught lived inside me didn’t feel evil — I knew my heart was pure, and that I was a good kid. But calm quickly turned to fear, and my soul was crushed when I realized that mine was one of the few that never got a pass.
Nightly prayers asking to remove the evil never brought the relief I needed to escape the nightmares — the ones where a large red man dragged me into fire below. The tears never stopped, and the sleepless nights gave way to thoughts of how to escape the pain — pain that would never have existed if those teaching us had been honest enough, or respectful enough, to admit it was just the opinion of some.
Shame continued to appear — especially in moments that should have brought joy. Learning that my biological parents both came from large families only confirmed the void I’d carried all along. But fear of judgment — and of undoing the progress I’d made — kept me from connecting with many who were still tied to the Church.
My biological mother hid her pregnancy until the day I was born — nearly losing her life when I wouldn’t let go of the few nutrients she had left. Later, I learned that just a short distance away, another young girl had asked for help — only to spend her pregnancy hidden away in a Catholic-run home, out of view, to avoid judgment from the very community she had been taught to trust. Decades later, the shame still blocks her from connecting with the child she let go — or the grandchildren who now exist.
The most natural human experiences — even the simplest joys — were being turned into sources of shame and loss. The lessons about honoring others’ faiths and standing up for humanity started to clash with the actions of those preaching them. Some used the donation basket to live tax-free in mansions and fly on private jets, while others spent the community’s hard-earned money fighting off a fired, unwed, pregnant teacher… or silencing thousands of abuse victims. Meanwhile, people simply existing with feelings they never asked for — or experiencing natural human behaviors — had their self-worth quietly stripped away.
No one should need to write a letter asking religious leaders to make things right. But the very idea of what religion is supposed to be has drowned in denial, corruption, and extremism. In my eyes, the Church no longer looks like a place that lifts up humanity — not without first checking who qualifies. At best, they look like corporations — and that’s being generous, because if any other brand were involved in what may be the largest, longest-running institutional cover-up in modern history — one that involved the widespread abuse of children — it wouldn’t still exist.
Right now, there are children crying into their pillows — their childhoods fading away because they’ve been made to believe that their identity or feelings make them unworthy of being accepted. Many are surrounded by love that would disappear if they told the truth about who they are — or what they’ve been through.
At the same time, people around the world are angry — those who were once taught to hate themselves, and those who’ve tried to live their faith with honesty — watching as the very people who failed them now celebrate leaders who embody everything those lessons warned against.
When that hypocrisy is pointed out, it’s often brushed aside with claims that “faith is separate from politics.” But religious beliefs almost always end up being the reason behind the actions. The ones flipping tables get called radicals — usually by people who support leaders who refuse to love their neighbors, block care for the sick, and deny the poor their basic needs.
Extreme religious voices are growing louder around the world — and those who know better are staying quiet, letting those voices redefine what Christianity means. Your Holiness has the rare power to shine truth across the world — to make an impact big enough to bring people together, so we can finally begin to heal the hearts still filled with hate. People are waking up to the truth: that those accused of “attacking faith” are often the ones who waited too long for compassion. Leaning on something to find peace isn’t the problem — it becomes one when believers are never given the chance to see beyond it.
History always teaches us — and progress always happens — but this time, we need to stop the pain before it becomes a darker chapter in a textbook. Those with a voice need to use it now, or risk losing the chance to ever be heard again. There should never be a time when fear of politics, profit, or attendance keeps the truth from being spoken. Speak the full truth — without trying to steer the outcome — and save the ones in pain by giving the faithful a chance to understand. None of us have all the answers, but it seems clear that our greatest goal should be to come together as one.
We’re living in a moment that will define our legacies, and the window for making things right is closing. It’s time to decide whether history will remember silence… complicity… or the moment someone finally flipped the damn table.
With love,
JX2 — Advocate, Former Altar Boy
P.S. I know my experience comes from a place of privilege, and I’ll never fully understand the depth of pain carried by those with less. That’s exactly why this plea matters — for those still trapped, especially in the most conservative religious communities across the world.
These truths matter:
Migration has shaped civilizations since the beginning of human history — long before borders or laws tried to control it.
Privilege is being able to hide what society rejects. Entitlement is ignoring the pain of those forced to live in plain sight.
Patriarchal systems — not divine will — were what first excluded women from power. Most religious restrictions followed, not led.
Marriage existed as a social and economic contract thousands of years before any religion claimed authority over it.
Same‑sex relationships and gender diversity have existed across nearly every culture, long before modern religions labeled them immoral — and throughout Christian history, even men in positions of power wore things like flowing robes, lace, heels, or makeup.
CC: To those who preach, and those who’ve only ever leaned toward the loudest voice.