"E você é católica!" Less than 72 hours into my six months in Brazil and a minute into my first conversation with my host family, I had already been pigeonholed into a particular religious identity. Yes, I am a Catholic, and no, I am not ashamed to say it... but how did my host mother know? And would it make any difference in the way she and her husband would treat me over the course of the upcoming semester? Before I had a chance to pinch my earlobes or feel my neck for any silver crucifixes I might be wearing, an answer came in the form of divine intervention...or a more down-to-earth reaction to the look of surprise plastered across my face. Reminding me that I had referenced my Christian upbringing on my housing form, with a laugh she told me that it was something we had in common.
I use this anecdote in conjunction with the following two observations to reflect a more generalized view of religion in Brazil (or, at the very least, the city of São Paulo) I can offer thus far. The first observation I have made is more basic: despite my host mother's initial assertion of her Catholic faith, I have yet to see her attend a Mass. The second observation regards Catholicism in a broader context—although a graduate of Latin American history like myself might assume that past customs continue to dominate contemporary practices, it feels as though this is not necessarily the case. The common link amidst this commentary is then as follows: with respect to religion, Brazil can feel like a country of contradictions.
In mentioning my host mother's habits, I do not attempt to tag her as a hypocrite. For me she is more of an example of how many of the Paulistanos I have encountered see the role of religion in the context of their day to day life. Without a doubt, countless church façades and passengers praying on rosaries are sights I commonly witness when riding the bus to school each morning; yet, I have not met many people who admit to skipping a soccer game or a shopping trip to make sure they catch a homily. If Brasileiros confiam mais em religosos—if Brazilians trust religious groups more than another other institution as a particular article I recently read claims—it is indeed interesting to think about upon what the 65 percent of the group surveyed bases this conviction. Maybe I have yet to learn what religion means to citizens on a more personal level; at this point I am better accustomed to what is more public—a feeling of secular pleasures over conventional religious practices from a community that statistically expresses less confidence in the armed forces or the health system than the local parishes.
Is Christianity on the downward slope here, or is it merely evolving? To begin to broach this question, it is imperative to distinguish between Catholicism and other faiths. From what I have studied previously about Brazil, I was aware that I would encounter a diverse population; I am becoming increasingly cognizant of the fact that this diversity is not just racial or socioeconomic, but also religious as well. Turning to another article I've recently encountered, I relay something I found surprising: from 1980 to 2000, the percentage of the population who identified themselves as Catholic dropped 15.1 percentage points, whereas the number of people who characterize themselves as evangelical increased 9 points. I find this shift interesting because it negates my preconceptions; now that I am here, it is easy to see how this could be the case. Whether I pass by yet another Pentecostal church I could have sworn was not there yesterday on the way to school, I flip on the TV to find a band of teenagers singing a Portuguese equivalent of Christian pop, or I indulge in a tabloid lambasting the leaders of the Igreja Renascer em Cristo, every day I learn more about other denominations of Christianity I did not expect to be so widely practiced here.
A week into my Portuguese class, my teacher asked us to engage in a debate about the power of the American Christian right; looking back at our discussion of religion in politics, I wish we had spent more time discussing the culture we are here to study rather than that we already know. As a temporary member of the São Paulo community, I have begun to perceive what seem like social paradoxes; as I continue to observe as both an exchange student and a commentator, I hope that the ability to place faith in a political context will follow. Brazil might feel like a country of contradictions, but it is really just a testament to the nation's cultural breadth and depth.
In mentioning my host mother's habits, I do not attempt to tag her as a hypocrite. For me she is more of an example of how many of the Paulistanos I have encountered see the role of religion in the context of their day to day life. Without a doubt, countless church façades and passengers praying on rosaries are sights I commonly witness when riding the bus to school each morning; yet, I have not met many people who admit to skipping a soccer game or a shopping trip to make sure they catch a homily. If Brasileiros confiam mais em religosos—if Brazilians trust religious groups more than another other institution as a particular article I recently read claims—it is indeed interesting to think about upon what the 65 percent of the group surveyed bases this conviction. Maybe I have yet to learn what religion means to citizens on a more personal level; at this point I am better accustomed to what is more public—a feeling of secular pleasures over conventional religious practices from a community that statistically expresses less confidence in the armed forces or the health system than the local parishes.
Is Christianity on the downward slope here, or is it merely evolving? To begin to broach this question, it is imperative to distinguish between Catholicism and other faiths. From what I have studied previously about Brazil, I was aware that I would encounter a diverse population; I am becoming increasingly cognizant of the fact that this diversity is not just racial or socioeconomic, but also religious as well. Turning to another article I've recently encountered, I relay something I found surprising: from 1980 to 2000, the percentage of the population who identified themselves as Catholic dropped 15.1 percentage points, whereas the number of people who characterize themselves as evangelical increased 9 points. I find this shift interesting because it negates my preconceptions; now that I am here, it is easy to see how this could be the case. Whether I pass by yet another Pentecostal church I could have sworn was not there yesterday on the way to school, I flip on the TV to find a band of teenagers singing a Portuguese equivalent of Christian pop, or I indulge in a tabloid lambasting the leaders of the Igreja Renascer em Cristo, every day I learn more about other denominations of Christianity I did not expect to be so widely practiced here.
A week into my Portuguese class, my teacher asked us to engage in a debate about the power of the American Christian right; looking back at our discussion of religion in politics, I wish we had spent more time discussing the culture we are here to study rather than that we already know. As a temporary member of the São Paulo community, I have begun to perceive what seem like social paradoxes; as I continue to observe as both an exchange student and a commentator, I hope that the ability to place faith in a political context will follow. Brazil might feel like a country of contradictions, but it is really just a testament to the nation's cultural breadth and depth.
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