23-Year-Old Returns to Church Without Believing in It

The 23-year-old who returns to Mass without believing in his Church

A 23-year-old man with no social life and early signs of balding stands at the door of his parish church in a Valencia town. He doesn't go because he likes the Catholic style. He says he goes because it is the Church founded by Christ. He has been in what he calls mortal sin for weeks and needs to confess today. He sits where the young people are, not at the back. If the priest preaches softly, he leaves until the consecration. "I don't care anymore if they see me," he writes.

This gesture, isolated in appearance, connects with a trend that, according to some participants, is gaining ground in Spain: young people returning to the Catholic rite or looking toward orthodoxy, disillusioned with the institution's direction. The conversation cites news suggesting that adult baptisms and Mass attendance are rising. It is not a mass phenomenon, but it breaks the trend.

An uncomfortable return: faith without sympathy for the institution

The protagonist makes it clear from the first message: he doesn't like the Catholic style, feels embarrassed to be associated with an amillennial institution, and believes Christianity loses depth without dispensationalism. Still, he goes. The paradox is the core of everything: he believes in the Church as an institution founded by Christ, but rejects its current functioning.

This profile is not unique. In the conversation, a Catholic says he continues to be one despite calling the episcopal conference a disgrace and pointing out that there are Guasonic cardinals in the Vatican. Another participant notes that the return is happening in some cases toward Orthodoxy, because the Spanish Catholic Church is, in his words, "disgusting." Disaffection with the hierarchy does not prevent a return to the rite.

Some argue that Catholicism only worked when people were nominally Catholic, and that today, by taking religion seriously, many choose to leave. The thesis, debated, points to a paradox: abandonment comes from seriousness, not indifference.

Dispensationalism, amillennialism, and a theological war underneath

The young man insists his problem is not faith, but doctrine. He declares himself dispensationalist and accuses amillennialism of being a product of the Reformation later adopted by Freemasonry. He maintains that pre-Reformation Catholicism was almost Pentecostal, especially in Spain, and that the current Church has diluted that eschatological power.

The discussion shifts to Pentecostalism, which the protagonist calls unambiguously "genuine garbage" in its majority version, though he saves a remnant of sound doctrine. He criticizes that most Spanish Pentecostal churches have fallen into prosperity theology and the apostolic ministry, mentioning preachers like David Diamond, Gary Lee, or Marcos Sarracena as references for this line he considers faithful.

On the other side, a participant with theological training recalls that dispensationalism is not taken seriously in academia, neither Catholic, Orthodox, nor Reformed, and that it is the preferred approach of Pentecostals. He adds that the Catholic Mass, when understood for what happens in it, maintains exceptional depth, especially if one avoids the parish with the little guitar.

The clash with the parish youth: humility against martyrdom

The protagonist's plan includes sitting among young people of his age. The response from another participant is a bucket of cold water: the kids in the parish are innocent souls who have not walked the path of darkness, so it is not advisable to overwhelm them with neuroses. "You are the one who has to learn from them, not they from you," he tells him.

The young man's reply is furious: he declares himself a martyr of this century and maintains that they are the ones who must trinc his path, because they have not suffered the world's hatred for Christianity. The exchange leaves an uncomfortable question: can someone who feels like a martyr learn from someone who has not suffered?

The discussion then entangles whether the maladjusted is the believer or the world. One participant defends that there were fewer social maladjusteds when society was Christian. Another responds that eschatological optimism is the opposite of becoming antisocial, and that today anyone with a minimally optimistic idea of the future clashes with their environment.

Genesis, evolution, and the Pleistocene: the debate derails

In parallel, the conversation gets stuck in a dispute about Genesis. One participant claims that the story of Adam and Eve narrates, in modern interpretation, the Neolithic Revolution, and that the text admits several readings. Another demands the specific verses that explain the transition from the Paleolithic to the Neolithic and accuses of dodging the issue when they don't arrive.

The exchange heats up. The Church is reproached for having taught a childish catechism for centuries and not having taken advantage of the current intellectual level. The response is that explaining these interpretations would require putting several books in the head and that arguing on the internet seems immoral. The debate remains open, without verses and without agreement.

The closing: returning through the door

Finally, the protagonist announces he returns to Mass. The previous week he didn't enter; shame won. This time he will try. He doesn't agree with amillennialism or the pastoral style. He feels embarrassed. But he goes, because, he says, Catholicism is the true religion.

The response he receives is nuanced: not all priests or all parishes are in bad shape, and there are excellent priests. In general terms, the Catholic Church is in its low hours. The 23-year-old, with early receding hairline and thinning crown, will cross the door anyway. It is the only fact that admits no discussion.