I read this week that Gerry Adams thinks his views on religion may have more in common with Protestantism than Catholicism, in that he doesn’t really see a need for a “middleman” anymore.

A brave admission indeed for an icon of the Irish republican movement, that traditionally draws its support from the Catholic community in Northern Ireland.

I’ve said it before, I know, but I’ve never felt entirely comfortable being a Catholic. As a child I enjoyed calling into my local church to light a wax candle and say a quiet prayer. But when they brought in the electric candle contraption, I must admit the enjoyment began to wane for me.

And as for confession, well, I was simply too shy to reveal my childish sins of resentment or dislike of certain people.

So every week or month I would just go in and tell the priest I stole 10p from my mammy’s purse. I never actually stole anything, but the whole point of confession was that you had to say something.

After a couple of years I stopped going altogether, reasoning I could stay away for 50 years — and then go back when I was 65 and ask for a general forgiveness for any sins I’d committed along the way and then forgotten about! It’s a tricky philosophical conundrum, but I think I might just get away with it.

As a young child I was always taught that all Catholics must be humble, modest and self-effacing. Therefore I could never understand the elevated social status of Catholic priests and the way they would just arrive at people’s houses, usually unannounced, and be given tea in the best bone China cups.

I remember people actually bowing their heads a little to show respect to a priest. These same people would then tut-tut at the English for doing the same thing to the royal family!

Of course, I felt very indignant about the way women were barred from taking any part in the life of the Church, unless it was to arrange flowers on the altar. I mean, by the time I was off to Loreto Grammar, women were working as teachers, doctors, scientists, politicians, pilots and even soldiers. So why couldn’t they stand up on the altar and say Mass? It made me feel like a second-class sort of Catholic, really.

I thought it beneath contempt that at one time women who had recently given birth had to be ‘churched’ before making themselves sexually available to their husbands once more. Apparently, being ‘churched’ involved some sort of vague, cleansing prayer. I’ve never asked for the full details.

My only role models were Mary, the mother of God, who was a virgin. And a saint called Maria who, if memory serves me right, chose to be murdered rather than consent to sexual intercourse in some Italian village in ancient times Add in the Catholic Church’s tough stance on birth control and family planning, and their very unsympathetic treatment of gay issues, and I simply couldn’t switch off my social conscience any more.

So I bailed out, aged about 15, and I only darken the door these days to go to weddings and funerals. And even then I have to sit near the back in case I feel a bit jittery.

Yes, I’m sure the rules have been relaxed a little now ... Babies who don’t live long enough to be baptised aren’t buried outside the cemetery wall any more.

But men who sleep around are still affectionately called ‘playboys’, I daresay. While women who do the same thing get called all sorts of unattractive things. I’m sure most modern Catholics use some sort of contraception, since families of 15 or 20 children are so few and far between. But it’s all done very discreetly, isn’t it?

And there are still no lady priests, or gay marriages!

I suppose I simply retain that childish belief that God made everyone and God loves everyone — and that includes the women, the sinners and the gays as well as the masterful (and straight) men.

I feel moved to tears sometimes when I look at my own (non-denominational) teenage daughter, happily trying on her make-up and chatting to her friends on her mobile phone. She reads fashion magazines and thinks all food comes ready-made from M&S.

She’s totally unaware of the concept of going to hell for all eternity that I grew up with. She wouldn’t accept five minutes of being treated in a sexist or even offhand way by any man, and she’d be right not to. I admire her sense of entitlement and her lovely, relaxed personality. She’s not remotely uneasy in the company of other races and religions.

She wants only to make her own way in the world, harming nobody along the way. I think that shielding my child from the extremes of religious doctrine has been the main gift I have given to her. I’ve told my child that she must make her major life decisions according to her conscience and to her resources.

And that she must always place a high value on herself because she is worthy of respect — and that she deserves to live a good life because she is a good person. There are plenty of positive things about religion, such as the promotion of charitable works, and the power of prayer and meditation to calm the mind and ease the soul.

If only most churches could focus on those two subjects, and ease off on the anti-feminist and anti-gay doctrines a little bit, they might see some more people in the pews. And it’d be nice if they brought back the real wax candles too

Belfast Telegraph