"Get ye to a nunnery, lesbians!".

Apologies for religious exposition contained herein:

Somewhere in the universe, at least to my mind, there might be a God. Wow, that's conclusive, but then I hesitate to sound like a Bible-bashing religious person who has absolute certainty in everything. I like to doubt. It is quite enjoyable, actually. By doubting everything, including my two loves (Catholicism and liberalism), it keeps what I think and feel fresh and renewed. As far as Catholicism can be fresh and renewed, that is (more on that later, though).

I wear a peculiar badge of honour. Several of my friends have, at different times and in different contexts, described me as the most anti-Catholic Catholic they know. It is a point which at times upsets me, but that at times makes me feel proud. Why does it upset me? Well, because I do have real faith. Not actually so much in the proud, glittering might of the Magisterium, or the ancient, echoing authority of the Bible. Nor even in the fragile domain of my conscience. I have faith in the inherent goodness of people.

As much as liberals seem to dislike religious people, and as much as religious people seem to dislike liberals, the two are far, far, far closer than they both realise. In the context of Catholicism, the Church teaches that we are all "temples of the Holy Spirit", and that therefore we are drawn by the "power of God" to do good works. In the context of liberalism, we believe that people should be free to live our lives as much as possible, that we are all "good" people, and that the State should retreat and let us live.

My existence as a Catholic owes a lot to denial, if I am honest. I lost my faith when I was fifteen, then rediscovered it again when I was eighteen.

I lost it, when I realised that there was no room whatsoever in the Catholic Church, for love. I lost my faith when I realised that the Church had become dominated by the political interests of right-wing Conservatives. I lost my faith, when it hit me day after day that I was trying to hide from the unavoidable fact that the Church was full of hate-filled, bitter men and women desperate to control us through the "weaknesses of the flesh", as if we had not moved on from the 13th Century.

Then I found it again (to be honest, it had only been left in my top drawer, underneath my much-thumbed copy of the Hobbit). I realised that the Church was built solely on love. The love that all humans share, the love that we have (sometimes very deep down) on a very intrinsic level, for our fellow human beings. It is the love that is not unique to religion, but it is a love that still brings thousands, if not millions, of people (religious and otherwise) together in common causes. Our response to the disasters in Haiti was inspired by love (although the agape love that seems so hard to quantify or explain). Our response daily to the images of suffering is inspired by love. And, for me, the Church was my way to show that love. It remains so, aged twenty-two.

It is a source of constant embarrassment, and worse, constant sadness, that the two views of the Church are so closely intertwined. I can sit with people who give their time, money and health to work with some of the most vulnerable, ignored people of our society. I see men and women working day in and day out, to give something back to the world. Incidentally, I also see this in almost every member of the Liberal Democrats. After all, the same force that drives us Lib Dems to get up and deliver, to get up and fight for a change, to get up and shout from the rafters to a world that doesn't seem to listen is - like it or not - the same force that drives religious people (and non-religious people) to work with charities, to volunteer, to listen.

And then after all that goodness, I can read this. Okay, after all the self-indulgent, high-fluting hyperbole leading up to this, you might think this story a bit of a let-down. When I'm talking about "humanity's common love", and "intrinsic good" and the like, it seems an anti-climax to start talking about a House of Lords amendment.

YAWN.

But. But, but, but, but, and several thousand more buts. This seemingly small story is huge. Here, we have politicians listening (far too much) to Churches. But, not only that, you have politicians accepting a view of the Churches as (excuse the pun) gospel truth.

So, Baroness Royall says the bill ensures the church could turn down some candidates when explaining or promoting the religion was not "intrinsic to the role". Wow, Jesus. That's a sentence which hides so much. No, actually, it doesn't. That is a sentence which, despite seeming to hide so much, actually sounds out a clarion call of discrimination and hate that is ridiculously incompatible with any definition of religious love or political liberalism.

Let me see. A gay or transgendered person can work in a Church to teach sports, or something, but the moment they try and "explain" or "promote" the religion, they are considered acceptable to sack? Or to not hire in the first place? Now, excuse me whilst I get a bit more religious (Jesus Christ, is that possible?).

We are asked as Catholics to do good deeds to spread the message of God. By seeing Christians doing good works, the world will be illuminated just that little bit more. Therefore, more than any preaching or proselytizing, it is our good deeds that "explain" and "promote" the religion. Okay, it is an argument of logic as opposed to an argument of scripture or dogma, but it still holds water. By (essentially) allowing the Church to refuse employment to any LGBT person who would be in a position to "explain" and "promote" the religion, the Church has tied itself into a knot. By the temporal actions of the Church to pressure the Lords, the Church has decreed that gay people cannot do good deeds.

Even beyond the logic, scriptural rubbish and stuff like that, the whole idea is flawed. I remember when I was fourteen, learning that many in the Church believe homosexuals are "called to celibacy" and "to a life with God". It used to be the almost accepted fact that gay Catholics would enter the priesthood, or a monastery, or a nunnery ("get ye to a nunnery, lesbians!" to paraphrase Shakespeare horrifically). Of course, that has all changed now that Benedict the Holy Father has managed to make the indisputable (hmm) link between the abuse scandals throughout the Church, and homosexual priests. Yes, it is because of gay priests, that we have paedophiles. Who could argue differently (hmm)?

Let me suggest this. It was Pope John Paul II, and Ratzinger's Inquisition-style force within the Church, which argued that the Church should hide the abuse from the world. Merely move priests from parish to parish, without ever allowing them to face the justice their disgusting, vile crimes warranted. By trying to focus on gay priests in the Church, this evil (yes, I called this action by the previous and current Pope evil - but then, we are taught that nobody is perfect, I just hope the Pope goes to Confession regularly) decision is hidden.

What is worse, I ask. The Pope complicit in the hiding of sexual abuse, or a gay priest helping the homeless? What is worse, I ask. The Catholic Church presiding over years of hatred for LGBT people, or an LGBT Catholic working with vulnerable children to help them realise that the world still cares for them?

One of the most sad things I heard last Friday, was a gay friend say: "Ah, well, Jesus hates me anyway." He doesn't. The Pope may do. The right-wing political interests do. But all Catholics? We do not.

This action by the House of Lords reminds me of all I hate in both politics and religion, and of nothing I love. Why do the churches not act together to make real changes to our society, to prevent the hideous poverty that inflicts parts of our nation? Why are they wasting their time ensuring they have a little bit more petty, authoritative control over whether to employ someone who likes men, women, both, neither?

I love the Catholic Church, and the Anglican Church, when they work for the vulnerable. Today, I see why they are so often dismissed as relics of the past. These are groupings who cannot see the joy of the love they so often preach about. Love is constantly changing. Love doesn't stay still. Love calls us all to do better and to be better. And love (and therefore God) doesn't care who acts on that love, or how they act on love, as long as they do.

A bad day for the churches. A bad day for the Lords. A bad day for the UK.