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Aníbal Neves grew up in a traditional Catholic family in Vila Real. On Saturdays, he went to catechism in the morning and to Mass at noon, without fail. His uncle was a priest and his younger brother walked around the garden leading processions, saying he wanted to be a bishop.
Today, at 62 years old, Aníbal lives in the city of Porto, where we met in person last May, after many phone calls. “Ten years ago, this interview would have been anonymous,” he points out. He explains that, in the past, he agreed to give an interview about civil marriage between people of the same sex, but he spoke with his back to the camera. About a decade ago, Aníbal stopped feeling the weight of the sin imposed on him since he was a child and, at the age of 50, he ended the long period in which he felt wrong for being homosexual.
It was around the age of 13 that he began to realise his homosexuality. However, until 1982, when Aníbal was already 21, being homosexual was a crime in Portugal, with sentences of up to six years in a criminal asylum or penal or work colony.
“When I was younger, I remember having a very bad idea about homosexuality, that it was a sin. In fact, I even remember that, after the 25th of April, my father bought one of those Verbo encyclopedias. When I received it, I remember that one of the first things I looked for was “homosexuality”. What I read was very negative. Something like: “complete depravity of sick people”, but I didn’t feel that way at all.” So, Aníbal continued to attend church while keeping his sexual orientation locked away in a box, which he only opened again much later.
Zé Diogo David is from the same generation as Aníbal. He is 58 years old, has lived in Porto all his life and has also seen everything happening there. He was 18 in 1982, but he says that the decriminalization of homosexuality had no influence on the way he lived, as he is a very discreet person. “I have never told anyone directly what my sexual preferences were. That only concerns me behind closed doors. I try to be consistent without shocking anyone.”
Always connected to the Church, Zé Diogo preferred to remain silent – not to mix religion with his private life. He says he did not feel the need to distance himself: “I did my self-evaluation and remained silent. I never thought I was prevaricating or hurting anyone.”1
On the other hand, it is common to hear that “homosexuality is a sin” and, therefore, “homosexuals cannot be accepted in the Church”. However, this is not exactly what the Catechism of the Catholic Church1, a reference document for teaching doctrine, states. “[Homosexual people] must be welcomed with respect, compassion and sensitivity. Any sign of unjust discrimination towards them must be avoided”, as stated in number 2358 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church.
The same document, however, states that: “Based on Sacred Scripture, which presents them as grave depravities, Tradition has always declared that ‘acts of homosexuality are intrinsically disordered.’ They are contrary to the natural law, they close the sexual act to the gift of life, they do not proceed from a true affective sexual complementarity, and they can in no case be approved” (number 2357 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church).
The Catechism also states that “homosexual people are called to chastity.” It is clear then that, according to the Catholic Church, the sin is not in homosexuality itself, but in the acts. As long as they maintain chastity, everyone can be accepted and should be respected. Now, to what extent is this acceptable for these Catholics?
“In general, I don’t consider myself a sinner. Nothing I do is a mortal sin or to harm anyone. But it’s not because I am the way I am that I am a sinner,” says Zé Diogo. He adds that this will all be a matter of time and that we need to be patient and understanding towards others, even if they are intolerant. “We have to know how to welcome them [homophobic people in the Church], despite everything, and forgive what they sometimes say. If I know how to welcome some, I also have to know how to welcome others.”
Zé Diogo has never felt offended by any comment, nor has he been directly attacked in the Church. He recognizes that this is not the case for all believers and that perhaps this is why he has this more understanding position.
As for Aníbal, despite also trying to understand the other side, he had some bad experiences when it came to confession.
During the more than 50 years that he hid his sexual orientation, he confessed far from his parish so as not to run the risk of being recognized. He chose the city of Fátima, where he went every year in May, during the pilgrimage period. He usually included being homosexual in his list of sins and always received absolution. Once, a priest refused to grant him an indulgence when Aníbal revealed that he was homosexual. “I left there completely devastated. He asked me if I regretted [being homosexual] and I said no. And so he refused to absolve me.”
It is true that, according to Catholic doctrine, there must be repentance in order to receive absolution. But Aníbal shows that there are other ways of welcoming people: “After a while, I went back there, to the Chapel of Reconciliation. This time, I was met by a Brazilian priest and I told him everything. He listened and spoke with great empathy. We ended up holding hands and crying. Everything I heard was comforting.”
But this way of thinking and seeing himself only emerged in 2013, when he began attending a reflection group made up of homosexual Catholics in the city of Porto. It was only then that he stopped discussing the subject of homosexuality when he went to confession. Until then, he thought he was living in sin. With the help of other members of the group, including a young man with a degree in theology, he realized that there was no reference in the Bible to homosexuality, but rather to situations of depravity.
Today, there are several associations and movements of Catholics LGBTQIA + spread throughout the country, including: Rumos Novos, mainly in Lisbon; Caminhar na Diversidade (CaDiv), in Porto; and the Sopro sem sede movement, with members spread across several municipalities in Portugal. Aníbal became an example for the Catholic community LGBTQIA +. He is currently the president of CaDiv and is also a member of the Sopro movement. Zé Diogo also belongs to both: “I feel that I have a community there that shares and benefits from the same position as me. We have similar realities and I feel comfortable because of that. I have never felt my relationship with the Church questioned because of my reality, but it is good to know that I can help others with my story. [CaDiv] is good for those who feel unprotected. There is a source of support here. But the goal is that one day these associations will no longer be necessary.»
1
The Catechism of the Catholic Church is the document that summarizes all the essential and fundamental elements of the Church's faith. It was promulgated in 1992 by Pope John Paul II.
«I was already marching through the community [LGBTQIA +] before realizing that I was part of it.» This is the phrase that best describes Catarina Barbosa, who was born in Braga 27 years ago.
He welcomed us into his home, in Porto, in a room where the walls were covered with paintings with messages of struggle for equality and freedom.
She started out as a catechist at the age of 15, and that was when she began to do her work of “evolving from within.” “The way catechesis was taught was outdated and not geared toward children. My colleagues and I started to open up the conversation more.” In those sessions, we talked about everything, including sexuality and gender identity, and the children always had lots of questions. The main message to convey was that God is love, regardless of everything.
“I grew up in a family where we were always accepted for who we are. We were educated to respect other people, always with great openness. Our education in the Church was based on love, so loving others and loving God were never incompatible for us.”
Catarina is pansexual and demisexual, although she emphasizes that she does not limit herself by labels. She has also never come out, the moment in which she publicly assumes her sexual orientation or gender identity: “I didn’t think it was necessary for me. If I were heterosexual, I wouldn’t have to sit down with my family and tell them that I liked men. I understand that it makes sense for some people or families. But not for me.”
The former catechist says she has never heard anything negative related to her sexuality within the Church, but she has also never spoken about her sexuality in confession: “I do not consider myself a sinner. For me, any kind of love is a symbol of God on earth. If God created us all, he created us this way. If you belong to the community LGBTQIA + is not “natural”, then God is not perfect, simple.»
There are seven sacraments in the Catholic Church: baptism, confirmation (chrismation), penance (confession), Eucharist, ordination, marriage and anointing of the sick (extreme unction). These sacraments are rites that symbolize moments of communion and confirmation of faith in God and are the basis of Catholic religious practice.
But nowadays, all Catholics LGBTQIA + have access to the sacraments? It depends.
In general, baptism is accessible to everyone, as is penance, as long as they repent of their sins. The Eucharist is also accessible (that is, if a group of ultra-conservative Catholics do not invade the mass as happened during World Youth Day, but we will get to that later). A homosexual man can become a priest (ordained) if he omits the information, but he cannot marry another man in the Church. There are cases of trans people who hide their transition process and, because it is not common for there to be an inspection, they are able to celebrate marriage, as long as it is with someone of the opposite sex.
Today, the community's struggle LGBTQIA + does not focus on the sacrament of marriage, but only on the possibility of having a blessing. In other words, a small mass that is not considered a sacrament. “A blessing, first of all, is giving thanks to God for something positive. A blessing LGBT “It means recognizing that this love is a blessing from God. It has nothing to do with the sacrament of marriage. The Church will never accept that, obviously,” explains José Pacheco, who is a priest in Porto.
The priest is 79 years old and has dedicated his time to studying homosexual issues in the Church. He is recognized as a priest who stands by the community, whether through groups such as CaDiv and Sopro, or by offering the possibility of celebrating these blessings. José Pacheco explains that “the only thing that is asked in these blessings is that a couple, married civilly, can have a moment of prayer to thank God for this love that unites two people. To accept that this love is not negative.”
But the Vatican was negative, in a document released in February 2021, in response to the question: "Does the Church have the power to bless same-sex unions?"
The issue of blessings is not new. José Pacheco says he has been hearing this discussion for more than 20 years, when Catholic magazines also began to address the topic.
The issue is raised again by the fact that the German Church approved the blessing of homosexual couples this year, even after Pope Francis's negative response. According to José Pacheco, the German Church cannot approve something so structural on its own, as it carries the risk of a split in the universal Church. When asked if the Portuguese institutional Catholic Church has an official opinion on the matter, the priest says no, but if there were, it would be clearly negative. For him, there is nothing to suggest that the bishops will take a position on these blessings in the short term. It is possible that married men could be ordained sooner or women could be allowed to be deaconesses.
Tiago Costa, 27, got married to Bruno through a civil registry office and then asked for one of these Catholic blessings. “It was just a thanksgiving mass, included in our wedding ceremony. Celebrating our love would also be celebrating our love with God.»
“The Church is made up of men, who make mistakes, who have different opinions and visions. It has a very long history behind it. Of course, I didn’t always have this clarity. Of course, it wasn’t easy, but I think that, in some way, I tried to calm down, knowing that I always felt very loved by God. I don’t consider myself a sinner because loving is not a sin.”
Ana Carvalho, 50, also received a blessing when she married a woman: “Even though it is not a sacrament, the blessing made sense to me as the moment when I give myself to another person and ask for the help of the Holy Spirit on this path. This blessing came after 17 years together, so it was not for the party”, she laughs.
In the Sacrament of Baptism, a limitation is expressed on paper, more specifically on the baptismal certificate. Here, any child can be baptized, even if they are the child of a homosexual couple. However, the document has a space reserved for the mother's signature and another for the father's. Thus, with two mothers or two fathers, the rule states that only one must sign. In this case, the rules of the Church override the law of the State, and this is not the only example.
At the age of five, Rodrigo (not his real name) told his mother that he was a boy. Teresa (not his real name), who is Catholic, accepted him immediately and from that day on, his name became Rodrigo.
«At that time I was a little distanced from the Church, for personal reasons. And never, during this whole process, did I question myself in relation to God, because, for me, God accepts everyone, whoever they are.»
The beginning of Rodrigo's process coincided with his first contact with the Catholic religion. He wanted to join the scouts and, to do so, he had to go to mass and catechism. With closer contact with her son, Teresa ended up getting closer to her faith too, going to church and mass.
So far, there have been no problems between the Church and Rodrigo: “He has always been called by the name he wanted from the beginning. There was never any problem, not at school, not in catechism, not in the Church. It was the name he asked to be called by, and that was how we went through the whole process”, says Teresa.
Rodrigo was baptized at the same time, when he was six years old. The baptism was registered with his birth name, which was all correct, according to Teresa, since the name could not yet be changed in the civil registry.
On the day of the baptism, Rodrigo dressed in his best outfit, but in the church pews there were murmurs among the people watching: “How is it possible for a girl to go to the altar dressed as a boy?”
Teresa says she didn't understand those comments, because not long ago, both girls and boys were baptized wearing long dresses. Rodrigo never wore "feminine" clothes, so it didn't make sense for him to wear them just because he was going to be baptized. Nor did the priest object.
Everything went well from the age of six to sixteen. Rodrigo went to mass, catechism and scouts without any problems from the priest or the scouts. But when he turned sixteen, Rodrigo legally changed his name at the Institute of Registries and Notaries.
“He wanted to change his name in the Church records, since, legally, he no longer had his birth name. That was when he began the process of wanting to speak to the priest to make this request. On the scouts’ part, there was a bit of a “shall we continue with him or not?” phase. After several meetings, the National Scout Corps (CNE) responded that he could continue. So much so that he made his last promise, that of a scout, with his name changed. “They let him stay to follow the normal path, but he could never start the path as a leader, because this issue of transsexuality does not follow the rules of the Church. And those who do not follow the rules of the Church cannot teach other young people,” recalls his mother.
When she went to the parish to request a name change on the records, it seemed that the priest only found out about her transsexuality at that time. So much so that she told Rodrigo that if she had known earlier, she would have taken him on a retreat. “I don’t know what his intention was in taking him on a retreat, maybe it was to try to understand my son’s situation, I don’t want to think that it was to make him change his mind”, says Teresa.
As for communion, the priest said that Rodrigo could continue to receive communion, as long as he confessed and admitted to being a sinner. “My son doesn’t feel like a sinner, so he doesn’t have to admit it. At the time, he made the decision to continue going to Mass without receiving communion. And, as a mother, that hurt me a lot. So much so that, for me, from that moment on, entering a church became a very painful experience. Feeling that my son has been rejected as a sinner makes me feel like a sinner too, because I have always accompanied my son in this process, I have always supported him. If he is a sinner, then I am even more so.
After seeing his request to update his name rejected by the priest, Rodrigo sent a request to the patriarchate and received a new rejection. The letter sent in response states that “a parish baptism register […] is considered a record, that is, a historical document that attests to a real event in the past. […] For this reason, baptism registers cannot be erased or altered. […] The possibility of changing the name in the civil registry, provided for in the Portuguese legal system, is therefore not comparable to changing the baptism register. […] On the contrary, the baptism register’s main purpose is to serve as a record of a historical event […]. In this Letter [of the Consecration of the Doctrine of the Faith sent to the presidents of the Episcopal Conferences on 28/09/2002], the then cardinal prefect explained that, taking into account that the change of civil identity by a faithful “does not modify their canonical masculine or feminine condition, defined at the moment of their birth, it is not possible to make any change in the Baptismal Register with regard to their sexual identity after having undergone the medical intervention of sex change”.
In their response, they also add that Rodrigo should send a note of his transsexuality and name change to be noted and kept with his baptismal record, but without altering the so-called “historical document”.
Under Portuguese law, private entities must comply with the law on non-discrimination against LGBTQIA+ people, and public entities must ensure that this is complied with. This is what Law No. 38/2018 of August 7, which deals with the Right to self-determination of gender identity and gender expression and the protection of each person's sexual characteristics, states in its Article 2. Thus, while any records of the birth name are erased at the Institute of Registries and Notaries when a name change is made, the Church is an exception.
“The question I ask the Church is: what happens to the records of these people, their old names? Will these people never receive the sacrament of death? Are they people who will always exist, who will never die, so will they become saints? Because when there is a death, when there is a record, that person has died and that’s it. Now, will these young people who were baptized and did all these things live forever? It’s not just my son, other young people I talk to, if they want to get married in the Church, they will lie. They say they weren’t baptized and will be baptized and do all the things again. I don’t know if that will be his idea in a few years, but that’s what he and other young people tell me.”
Teresa also says that she knows of cases of transgender people who got married in the Church and managed to have their records changed, which is why she has not given up yet. “This depends on the mindset of each person, the priest, the bishop, whoever is there at that place on that day. The decision is made by each person. I don’t think it’s fair.”
With all this, Teresa is currently away from the Church, as is her son: “I am Catholic, I believe in God, but I do not believe in the people who make up the Church. God said to accept everyone, and the people who are inside the Church do not do that.”
As a protest against this whole process, Rodrigo wanted to renounce his Christian faith. But even to do so, he would have to sign with his birth name.
Rafaela Jacinto studied History and Culture of Religions, focusing on the History of Ancient and Medieval, Modern and Contemporary Christianity. The conclusions she reached throughout her studies are enough to shock even the most conservative Catholic. “I studied and realized that in Ancient Christianity, the catacombs, there were deaconesses, that women would say mass. There was a strong sense of community and protection, and everything was lived in unison for the sake of the figure of Christ.”
She also has a degree in feminist and queer theology, “a term coined in liberation theology and revived by Teresa Forcades, a Benedictine nun who lives in a monastery in Barcelona,” she explains. Teresa Forcades proposes a reinterpretation of the Bible in search of the place of women. And she argues that this place is, in fact, equivalent to that of men.
“It is important to remember that the Bible was written by men in a very specific context. Divine inspiration? Yes. But men also have flaws, mistakes, and a lack of empathy. It is a very specific context. We cannot bring the Bible to 2023 and follow what is there, letter by letter. Christ did not write the Bible, he said things that someone picked up and wrote down. One thing that she [Teresa Forcades] says a lot also has to do with Bible translations — the Greek translation no longer tells you in Leviticus that homosexuality is wrong. It addresses the issue of pedophilia instead.”
Rafaela specialized in Joan of Arc, who was canonized 500 years after her death by the same Church that had previously condemned her to the stake. “She started wearing trousers, cut her hair and said: ‘Now I am the leader of an army, I don’t want dresses, period.’ She was an ultra-believer and full of faith. All the saints, in order to become saints, had to do something disruptive, anti-norm, radical, rebellious. And so, if we reinterpret this, we also realize that there may be some sign here queer. The very community of Jesus and the disciples was a community queer, because Jesus asked them to reject their mother and father because that was their chosen family. There is a bond of care, of love, of understanding. Which is what I think a community queer It is, or at least it should be. Many people are thrown out of their homes by their parents because of their sexual orientation, and here we have faith. And this becomes a family, where people treat each other as brothers and sisters and take care of each other. In the time of Christ, they went out because of the faith they had in the good news, in the idea of love that was proclaimed. I think it has the contours of a community. queer. This whole experience of Christ had these contours, which is to extend your hand to a person who is in need and who has been thrown out of their home and needs support. My connection is far-fetched, but I think it makes sense.»
Queer is a term of attitude. It is not based solely on sexual orientation, it also encompasses gender expression and identity and, according to Rafaela, a radical experience. She also adds that it is necessary to understand that not everyone fits into everything that is proclaimed in the dogma. There are certain verses that are for some people and certain verses that are for others.
Regarding sin, Rafaela says she has never associated it with the issue of homosexuality, but rather with the need for reproduction: “Pleasure was created by God, so it has to have some validity. Even violence, following this line of reasoning, has to have a place to fit in, because it exists. Now, the logical thought is this: the Church needs followers, it needs to control people, so procreation makes sense and, therefore, heterosexuality becomes the norm. We cannot forget that the Church is a kind of stagnant organism, which is super-political and capitalist – very different from what Jesus Christ was. It is an institution that functions on the basis of money, which even has a very false idea of charity, which makes no sense. The Church, in order to survive, needs power. Christianity does not.”
“Then I go somewhere and think, ‘I’m a gender fluid person, do I fit in here? No.’ There were saints who perhaps didn’t have a defined gender, and this is written in stone. “OK, they’re refusing me this place or they’re saying, ‘Oh, and so on, we accept your flaws…’ They’re not flaws, they’re taking something that is a characteristic of yours and turning it into a flaw, because it doesn’t fit in. A teacher of mine used to say, ‘The problem with the Church is that it wants to get into bed with people. It’s the Church that’s promiscuous, not the people.’”
Maria Serrano is 33 years old and a doctor. She grew up without much pressure to belong to the Church, despite her parents being Catholic. She was not particularly active in the Church: she went to Mass with her parents, participated in summer camps and little else. However, when she went to study abroad she came into contact with the Church for the first time. Opus Dei: «When I was abroad, I got a bit lost in parties. My parents threatened me that I would either go to a Catholic residence or go back home. I ended up going, very reluctantly. But it was there that I ended up discovering a reality that made sense to me, through some of the people who were there. I learned there that I could sanctify the mundane day-to-day life. I could try to be better every day.»
It ended up belonging to Opus Dei for 12 years as a supernumerary – without celibacy and with a family. «I ended up discovering that my maternal grandmother had also belonged to the Opus Dei. No one had ever told me. It's not that there's secrecy, but there is a description.»
He got married at 23, had two children and only then began to realize his bisexuality.
“When I was younger, and much like people who grew up in the 90s and 2000s, I didn’t have access to the information that we have today. There was almost an absolute idea that everyone was heterosexual. There was no questioning any feelings that arose in adolescence. It was only in retrospect, after I got married, that I began to realize that there were certain things that could be expressions of my homosexuality.”
His acceptance process was very complicated. He even felt a certain homophobia, which came from his doubts.
“I was 27 years old, and I started to realize it around people who were closest to me. In the same way that teenagers today start to realize it, perhaps. Just as I was attracted to men, I started to realize that I was attracted to women. At first I rejected it a lot, but slowly I started to accept it,” she recalls.
She often heard things like “homosexuality is an attack on the family” in Catholic homilies or conferences. She tried to filter it out, but at a certain point it started to affect her: “I began to see that even Catholics discriminate against those who are different. Whether they are LGBT, remarried, divorced, etc. Contrary to the teaching of Jesus, who was always on the margins with those who were different. Why can’t people in the Church do the same?”
Mary refers to an excerpt from Saint Paul's letter to the Galatians, in the New Testament, to show that no one is expelled in the work:
“[Being bisexual] is not a choice. It is the person I am. If God accepts me, why can’t I accept myself? I don’t believe that, looking at the person of Jesus, who so often taught love in its various forms, I can criticize my relationship with my girlfriend. The person of Jesus who was presented to me and makes me Catholic would not condemn my love.”
Because of all this, Maria felt the need to take a break from her relationship with the Church. “I am still searching for my place in the Church, as a divorced woman and a homosexual woman.”
When we spoke to Maria, in March, she had only joined Sopro about a month ago.
“The fact that we have something in common, each with our own story, can be very important to start the dialogue and show that we are here. We can remind people of the maxim to love your neighbor as yourself.”
At this year's World Youth Day (WYD) in Lisbon, count was lost of the number of cases of LGBTphobia were shared on social media during the week of August 1-6. Raquel Luís belongs to the Global Network of Rainbow Catholics – an international network, better known by its acronym in English GNRC (Global Network of Rainbow Catholics). During the Journey, the group organized several activities, including a mass, to include groups LGBTQIA + from all over the world and anyone else who wanted to join.
Initially, the mass was planned to take place at the São Domingos de Benfica convent. However, threats of invasion arose from a group of ultraconservative Catholics, who were organizing on social media. To avoid problems, they ended up transferring the mass to the Ameixoeira parish.
On the day of the celebration, everyone had already been warned of the possibility of disturbances, including the police forces who were called. When the faithful arrived, there were about 12 people at the door who were unknown to the group. They entered the church without saying a single word and sat down on the benches. After the first chord of the music that begins the Eucharist was played, the group stood up with their crucifixes in the air. They shouted something in Latin at the top of their lungs. It was then realized that they were praying what they called a “prayer of reparation.” “It seemed like they were trying to have a noise competition with the beginning of the mass,” says Raquel, who witnessed this situation firsthand. At this point, the police showed up and, despite some resistance, managed to remove these people from the church. Outside, they knelt at the door and continued the same prayer.
Two days later, at the end of the Saturday vigil in Parque Tejo, Raquel witnessed discrimination again, this time because of a flag. She was with four other people and they were heading to the area where they would spend the night. They were walking calmly, with a rainbow flag raised on one pole and a GNRC flag on another. At that moment, they were approached by a boy who immediately told them, in English, “You can’t be here!”, as he tried to grab the flag. Another boy joined them, this one wearing a hood. Raquel and her companions were pushed, attacked and insulted. They screamed for help, in the midst of so many people, but no one came to help. Raquel says that they protected each other as best they could. She saw two volunteers and called them, but since they didn’t know how to deal with the situation, they went to call more volunteers, who wanted to call the police, but according to Raquel, they refused to go to that location. Out of nowhere, stones began to fly towards the five, with two people being hit. It is assumed that the attackers finally thought that "the job was done" and left the scene. The police finally showed up more than an hour later, after a direct phone call to the deputy police commissioner. One of the boys fled and the other was escorted out of the premises. "I confess that at the end of it all I wanted was to go home. For me, everything became hell. I had never felt so much hate. I stayed because there were members who didn’t want to leave and, in a collective sense, I spent the night there. Of course, none of us slept at all. Clearly, this was the most serious moment of all, but it is important to say that every time during that week we left the center or attended an event, verbal attacks occurred. They stole our flags more than once,” says Raquel.
The question was common to everyone we spoke to: “What can the Church do?»
Zé Diogo said that the institutional Church will not change until the ordinary people who are part of it change. However, he believes that things are moving in the right direction: “it will take time, but I believe that things will become more fluid.” Ana Carvalho says that the Church will have to take the first step in this reconciliation, but people also have to see that, little by little, steps are being taken.
Rafaela Jacinto recalls that the Church still has a long apology to deliver. “[Pope Francis] can’t do everything, I understand that at the same time as I don’t understand it. He should go all out, actually, because that’s what Christ did too. He was always very radical. He doesn’t do it with complacency and taking one step at a time… he really does go to the market and turn the tables.”
Catarina Barbosa said that “the Church as a whole [the Vatican institution] should first update itself with the times, as it was stuck a few centuries ago. Then, make the Church what it is supposed to be: a place of welcome. We should also put an end to celibacy and conversion therapies in the world – although some people think that this would destroy the Church, I just think that it would make God’s message come true. I don’t believe that two beliefs are the same. I know a lot of people who think that this acceptance [of the community] is a good thing. LGBTQIA + in the Church] urgent. Are we fighting against a wall? Likely, but there is a song by anakim which says — «There are fights that are lost, but they need someone to fight».
