God, Pizza, and Love
Oh, the brainwashing! I can’t do long division. I barely know what an adjective is. But I can recite the entire rosary in Portuguese. And I don’t even speak Portuguese!
There are plenty of problems with organized religion, but my biggest complaint? I was always in competition for love. Not like The Dating Game, where I’d be up against two white wine spritzer-drinking beefcakes named Derek. No, my competition was God.
And not the Old Testament God, who throws people into whales and turns them into salt. That guy would be easy to beat—he’s not very nice. No, my rival was the all-knowing, all-loving, blue-eyed, blonde-haired God—you’ve seen the picture. And this God had something I couldn’t compete with: eternal life. How the hell do you out-love salvation!?
So people had to choose—love me or love God. And growing up, I saw them making that choice. The glances, the whispers, the judgment—from my family, classmates, teachers, even the pulpit. As long as God was in the picture, I couldn’t have love.
Or so I thought.
Love vs. Salvation
My mom fully bought into the Christ vs. Chris dilemma. Or at least, that’s what I assumed.
She often said that when my brother Logan, who has Down Syndrome, meets God, he’ll be "whole again." Sounds nice, right? But here’s the thing—if you’ve ever met someone with Down Syndrome, you know they love hard, laugh hard, and radiate joy. Logan is pure happiness, and that’s my end goal. If heaven is real, I want God to welcome me with open arms and say, "You did good, Chris—now enjoy eternity with Down Syndrome."
If I asked you what you love most, you might say your cat, long walks on the beach, sunsets, white wine spritzers.
I call BS.
I asked Logan the same question. He thought for a second, got super serious, and said… Pizza.
That’s it. That’s the answer. At the end of the day, all we really want is love and pizza.
Choosing Love
I was 27 when I came out to my mom. Well, technically, Missy did it for me—drunk at my grandma’s house (long story). My mom kept questioning me—why was I moving? Why did I need two bedrooms? Why wouldn’t I answer her?
And then Missy, in all her intoxicated wisdom, slurred out, "Why don’t you just tell her you’re gay?"
My heart stopped. This was it. Would she pick her queer kid… or salvation?
Then I saw it—the split. Right in front of me. Like an atom breaking open, spilling centuries of rules, psalms, testaments, and judgment onto the floor. And on the other side? There was just God.
She hugged me. "I knew. I love you."
Love Can Be Easy
Does love have to be hard to be real? No. Sometimes, love is easy. The kind of easy that splits atoms, rewrites traditions, and breaks 2,000 years of man-made rules in a single moment.
And sometimes, love is just pizza.
