Assume the Missionary Position...A Piece on Religion and "The Family"

I was surprised that the dog had the indecency to scratch his own balls in that "holy" place.  His instinctive needs seemed filthier, more unwelcome, and even more out of place in the presence of La Familia.

Tonight, in the middle of the dusty and plateaued Monterrey, I met a religious missionary group known as, The Family. 

How I ended up there was the result of a series of fairly simple events. My boyfriend's brother was invited to attend a Familia barbecue (this was not out of any sort of blue area...rather they invited him because he had done some missionary work for the group). Seeing as La Familia centers around the concept of a "family" (go figure), my boyfriend's family was also invited to go, and, like the polite and obliging people that they are, they went. I came along as well. The first thing I was told about the nighttime barbecue had nothing to do with religion or familiar concepts or even conservatism. I was simply told that we'd be eating lamb for dinner. I had no idea that our hosts were even American. I thought I was in for a nice cultural awakening amongst fellow Monterrey inhabitants-eating cabritos and avoiding fresh vegetables and ice water. But, alas! I came to meet La Familia. 

We drove up to a rustic, concrete mansion. I was a little uneasy after being informed that the hosts were: 1. American, 2. Conservative, and 3. Basically Evangelical. I felt the infamous thing rise up into my chest (I'm so, sorry Voltaire!) But intolerance consumes me when ultra-conservatives are involved. 

Turns out that twenty six individuals inhabit the house. I met Lisa* first (she's one of the adults and, consequently, the main teacher for La Familia's children) , and from there on out, children and children and more children came streaming out to greet me. They were all so incredibly polite, so cordial, so grown up, so poised, so eager to meet you and chit chat, that I felt sad and uneasy. 

My first observation was about the two young girls I met first. They were eighteen and nineteen and seemed not only sweet, but hip and stylish in their attire. Upon closer inspection, I discovered matching cartilage piercings, bare mid-rifts, and a lavender bra peeking out from one of the girls' turquoise tops. The top was speckled with decorative holes, each giving away a small glimpse of her underwear and pale, fleshy breast. Either they trusted all in the Familia to not look below their necks, or they were crying, aching and longing for anyone to do so.  All of the kids were also beautiful. Their skins were pale (with the exception of the one Mexican member), and they were all slender and fit. As I proceeded onward into this world of perfection and devotion, I began to panic. I looked over to my boyfriend various times, to see if he registered this eerie perfection and throbbing happiness that seeped throughout the enormous hacienda. His eyes remained glossy and calm, happy to meet the crowd. I felt instantly guilty for feeling so uncomfortable, but continued to feel so anyway. Something was so wrong. 

I began to talk to a fifteen year old boy member. He bore what seemed to be a Familia devotional ring on his right hand on his middle finger. His two girl siblings (out of the five other siblings he has...all living on grounds, mind you) bore the same branding insignia. 

Anyway, this boy was charming, well spoken, beautiful, attentive, and affectionate. I looked at him and all I saw was white, purity and cleanliness among the surrounding humid smog of Monterrey. He asked me about my hobbies and about school and college. If anyone can keep a conversation going, it's a fucking missionary, I'll tell you that. 

It was later, when I sat down to dinner that I almost began to cry. 

I sat across from the boy and his two sisters. Their father is the group musician. He played guitar and sang " A La Bamba" harshly and throatily as everyone else plummeted their face into the delicious black beans in rice (in wait for the slow-cooked lamb). As the evening went by, I decided to ask the children a couple of questions. I was itching to know what these children were doing here and I wanted to know more than just that they were all "missionaries." 

The boy and all of his other siblings were born into the program. They had lived in that magic hacienda their whole little lives. I responded to this with an "Oh" and a big smile to not give away my increasing uncomfortableness. I went on to ask them what they would do when they grew up, what jobs they would like to have. Little did I know that these specific missionaries cannot have higher education (which in older doctrine meant more than a 10th grade education, but is now updated to a 12th grade education) and therefore do not go on to have any jobs besides preaching the word of God. In fact, when I asked if there were anything they would want to do professionally, the boy's sister responded "Well, what else is there besides this" in a sassy, matter-of-fact, pre-pubescent girl kind of way. The lump in my throat began forming there. 

I then asked them about their daily routines. Keep in mind, i kept my cool and did not bust out into tears and did not corrupt them by saying fuck a lot, which a mean, sadistic part of me was yearning to do. 

Turns out their days start at seven forty-five in the morning. They eat (or sleep through breakfast...which is the cool thing to do), then have devotional, then have spanish class, and so on and so forth until school finally ends at seven o'clock PM. No more than half an hour for lunch, and an hour or so for "Quiet" or reading time. Not to mention chore time, or JJT "Jesus Job Time" which takes place somewhere between lunch and seven o'clock.

I really really wanted to cry and shake them. 

I know I sound intolerant and malicious, but I was raised to always have qualms with religion, particularly when it keeps you secluded in a desert. 

Though I obviously had my share of problems, I found that the actual people within La Familia, were among the nicest people I have ever met. The children were sheer pleasure to talk to, as were the adults. They all inquired as to what I was doing in Virginia and what college I was going to regardless of their beliefs. In fact, I talked to a sixty year old woman named Sue* for well over an hour (I estimated her age after she told me that she gave birth to her youngest daughter Melinda at 44, at home with a midwife). She told me about finding and devoting herself to the lord at 23, about losing 2 of her 9 children in a terrible accident in Dallas, and about different health regimens she practiced within this hacienda. 

I found that they only got hostile when I asked them specifics about their way of life. Particularly the children. Their eyes would shine with defensiveness and they would go on and on about the two ex members that betrayed them live on Larry King as soon as I asked what they were called officially and how I could learn more about them. It's that hostility that made me almost cry, that made me reject going on a rock climbing trip with them. One night was more than enough. Knowing that those children are trapped and that they are in the desert and that they exist will stay with me for a long time. 

And those are my thoughts thus far...