A former church girl's search for a new spiritual home : Code Switch After leaving the Pentecostal Church, reporter Jess Alvarenga has been searching for a new spiritual home. They take us on their journey to find spirituality that includes the dining room dungeon of a dominatrix, Buddhist monks taking magic mushrooms and the pulpit of a Pentecostal church. This episode is a collaboration with our friends at LAist Studios. Special thanks to the Ferriss, UC Berkeley's Psychedelic Journalism program for their support.

A former church girl's search for a new spiritual home

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B A PARKER, HOST:

A heads-up before we get started - this episode contains explicit language, sexual content and psychedelics.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

JESS ALVARENGA: By the time I was 16, I knew how to pray. And I mean pray, pray.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: I'd been preparing for the rapture since before I knew how to read. I was raised Pentecostal in the South, and it was a huge part of my identity. So many of my childhood pictures are of me with a toothless grin against the brick walls of my Pentecostal church in Houston, Texas. I still have a scar on my left knee from when I tripped and fell during a game of tag in the church parking lot, and I can still taste the empanada plantano - a Salvadoran sweet dessert dusted with sugar my dad would buy me from the salon social - the church cafeteria. Sometimes, he'd even let me take a sip from his coffee.

When I was in high school, I was baptized and received the Holy Ghost. I went door-knocking to spread the word of God. But 10 years ago, when I was in college, I started to question everything.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

PARKER: I'm B.A. Parker, and this is CODE SWITCH, the show about race and identity from NPR. This week's episode is a collaboration with our friends at LAist Studios about finding salvation in unexpected places - an exploration into spirituality that includes the dining-room dungeon of a dominatrix, Buddhist monks taking magic mushrooms and the pulpit of a Pentecostal church.

Jess Alvarenga is normally a reporter and documentary filmmaker focusing on the stories of other people. But for this story, she turned her focus inward. So hi, Jess.

ALVARENGA: Hi, Parker.

PARKER: I wanted to talk to you about this because church is something that is also near and dear to my heart. I grew up Baptist, and I still go to church. But I've also had my own journey with it. So when you were in church, what did you love about it?

ALVARENGA: I mean, I loved so many things about it. I loved the songs. I loved the community. I loved being part of this, like, group of people. But the thing that I loved the most was feeling a certainty of salvation. I had the promise of eternal life and salvation. I had the promise of going to heaven and being in a place where the streets were paved of gold. I had a promise that everything would be OK.

PARKER: So what was the moment that made you realize you had to break up with the church?

ALVARENGA: I think that the moment was when I realized that I wouldn't be allowed to be a pastor, and I think that had to do with a lot of the machismo that existed within the church. Women were kind of seen as leading men into temptation. That's what it felt like to me. Women were like a walking sin, and that's why we had to be modest. We had to talk lightly, and we couldn't laugh loud. And that's why we couldn't wear jewelry or had to wear really long skirts.

PARKER: Yeah.

ALVARENGA: And I think, too, it's like - I was exploring different parts of my identity. I think at that time is when I started to realize that I was queer, and I would not be accepted in that church. That was, like, an absolute sin. So I really had to make the decision to leave, and I really felt like I lost my sense of purpose. I lost my faith, and I lost the community that raised me. These were the people that used to come to my birthday parties. I still remember when I told my youth pastor, and we, like, ugly cried.

PARKER: Wait. You had, like, a it's-not-you-it's-me conversation with the church.

ALVARENGA: Yeah, yeah, with the pastor. Yeah (laughter).

PARKER: Oh, my gosh. How did that go?

ALVARENGA: They were, like, very much, like, no, we want you to stay. But I had already made up my mind. I was like, there is no way for me to move forward in this.

PARKER: And you feel like things aren't OK now?

ALVARENGA: I don't have anything that's, like, tying me to - or, like, tethering me.

PARKER: Yeah.

ALVARENGA: I still feel kind of, like - there's no grounding that I have. There's no, like, prescription that, like, you do this, you do that, you will be saved, you know?

PARKER: Oh, so now - got to make it for yourself?

ALVARENGA: Yeah.

PARKER: Oh...

ALVARENGA: Yeah.

PARKER: ...That's kind of stressful, Jess. I'm not going to lie.

ALVARENGA: (Laughter) I know. Yeah. But it means that I'm able to find spirituality in other places.

PARKER: Like, what other places are you talking about, specifically?

ALVARENGA: One of the places that I found it was actually at a sex party.

PARKER: OK.

ALVARENGA: You know (laughter)?

PARKER: As one does.

ALVARENGA: Yeah.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: Just to clarify, though, a lot of things have changed for me since I left the church. You know, I've fully embraced my queer identity. And then, a couple years ago, I had just gotten out of a long-term relationship when a friend invited me to a sex party. And I was a little church girl at the end of the day, so I was, like, very nervous and very scared.

PARKER: Yeah.

ALVARENGA: But I was like, you know what? It's after lockdown. We're stir-crazy. Let's just have some fun.

PARKER: OK.

ALVARENGA: So the sex party was at a community center.

PARKER: (Laughter).

ALVARENGA: It was too cute. It was, like - at the place, there was, like, pillows on the ground. It's, like, very, like, moody, dreamy lighting - like, pink and blues...

PARKER: It's cozy.

ALVARENGA: It's cozy. They have a sauna in there. They have a charcuterie board.

PARKER: (Laughter).

ALVARENGA: Yeah. And, yeah, one of the really interesting things that happened to me was I ended up doing a scene with the dom, you know, like, a kinky scene...

PARKER: OK.

ALVARENGA: ...Where I was in a submissive role. And when it was over, I found myself crying, and it felt very much like church. I felt a sense of relief. I mean, I don't know how to explain it other than, like, you know when you have a really good cry, and then, after, you just feel so - you're like, whew. It's like you can start all over again. And the really big feelings or the really big things that you're dealing with - they're not as big anymore.

PARKER: It reminds me - what's that hymnal? - like, I surrender all.

ALVARENGA: Yeah.

PARKER: That's a...

ALVARENGA: (Laughter).

PARKER: Jesus Christ, our blessed savior, I surrender all.

ALVARENGA: Exactly.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

UNIDENTIFIED MUSICAL GROUP: (Singing) I surrender all.

ALVARENGA: I think having the spiritual experience at the sex party really just made me realize that something was missing. I don't have a spiritual home anymore. I used to have these experiences so frequently and used to feel so refresh or born again. And so I wanted to see if there were other places in my queer life where I could find spirituality.

PARKER: All right, Jess, this is your journey. I'm going to get out the way. Take us down the rabbit hole.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: So after that sex party experience, I decided to go to a famous leather street fair in San Francisco.

We are walking on Folsom and Seventh. We're walking with some leather daddies across the street.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: I'm wearing a leather harness, assless chaps that I cut out myself from an old pair of jeans and black-and-white boots made out of ostrich. I'm not the only one with my cheeks out on display. I'm in a sea of mostly men, from twinks to bears and everyone in between.

We've been walking for like, five minutes now, and it's, like, mad packed - so many d****.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: I'm walking into the modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, also known as the Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. Think of it as a Pride for the obnoxious and kinky. Instead of glitter, rainbows and unicorns, there's leather and leashes everywhere. It's, like, one giant leather party.

OK, harnesses.

Leather, leather, leather.

Oh, I love this apron.

Another Jesus daddy.

Is that a dildo?

Oh, I love the lead.

Oh, my God, I love this underwear or whatever it is.

Yes. I feel like I'm overdressed.

(LAUGHTER)

ALVARENGA: I'm going to need to take my pants off (laughter).

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: Honestly, yeah.

ALVARENGA: Folsom is traditionally cis, gay and male. Where I want to be is The Playground - the closed-off block within Folsom where all the b******, the fine girls, the strippers and the sluts, the dykes, the femmes, the queerdos (ph) and the gender-benders go.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Hey.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

UNIDENTIFIED MUSICAL ARTIST: (Singing) Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

ALVARENGA: Oh, my God. I feel like I'm going to...

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Woo (ph).

ALVARENGA: ...Fall in love, like, 20 times right now. Good God.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Woo.

ALVARENGA: Yes, yes.

I'm here to find out what kink has to do with spiritual belonging and salvation and, like, church, I guess - church as a verb and a noun, church as in the space where I find release, repair, transcendence, which might be weird to bring up at a leather party. But, turns out, I'm not the only form of Bible banger out here. I spoke with a few people in the crowd to hear what they had to say.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #3: I was raised Catholic - recovering Catholic (laughter). And what I've loved today is, like, seeing so many people kind of reclaiming that by, like, kinking up their, like, religious costumes or having, like, a nun headdress or a priest outfit and, like, kind of subverting it a little bit.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #4: So this is something I started called Kinky Confessionals. So it's a play off of reconciliation, being raised Catholic. But now I've created a portal online for folks to submit their desires and their kinks in a way that's shame-free. The way that I am able to seek, you know, kink and power play with such depths really comes from being raised in the church...

ALVARENGA: One thousand percent.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #4: ...Understanding, like, devotion and faith in this way. And so even though the church was not able to evolve with me and isn't a part of, like, my current practices, I can be grateful for that aspect.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #5: I love to be told what to do. I do. And that's, I do think, like, absolutely, like, a - such a connection to, like, that early kind of, like - you know, I got to obey this almighty, you know? And I think that it's like - it's made me the bottom I am today.

(LAUGHTER)

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #5: Thanks, Mom and Dad.

ALVARENGA: I was excited to find out that there were others just like me - Jesus freaks turned, well, into a different type of freak. They told me what kink does for them. I'm still trying to figure out what exactly it does for me. Yes, it's thrilling to explore something that's so forbidden. But I'm not going to lie - Folsom was overwhelming. I'm still a church girl at the end of the day. I still get queasy at the thought of sex, let alone seeing multiple orgies in broad daylight. If I actually want to enter this world and see what's out there for me, I need someone to hold me by the hand and - I don't know - maybe slap it down a couple of times. I need to learn about the world of kink and BDSM from an expert, so I pay a visit to my friendly neighborhood domme.

Hey. Good morning. How you doing?

BENNETT: Come on in.

ALVARENGA: Good.

BENNETT: Welcome.

ALVARENGA: Thank you. I'm going to take my shoes off.

BENNETT: Yes, please.

ALVARENGA: Her name's Bennett (ph). She's actually one of the organizers of The Playground, and she lives not too far from me, in East Oakland. She gives me a brief tour of her home, and it doesn't take long to find her dungeon right next to the kitchen.

BENNETT: When you come to my house, this is what you're going to see. If you're upset, I will comfort you. I am not going to take it down for nothing and nobody. The cleaning ladies have gotten used to it, and it's very pretty and tasteful. And I got a chandelier and s***. See? I'm classy. There's a motherf****** chandelier in my dungeon. Who else - who got that?

ALVARENGA: Could you describe, like, how this would look - like, if someone's never seen this before, like, how would you describe it?

BENNETT: OK. Imagine a four-poster bed with no bed - just the frame, a four-poster bed with a square, leather hammock suspended by...

(SOUNDBITE OF CHAINS RATTLING)

BENNETT: ...Chains (laughter). And this is - it's a spanking bench. Slings and spanking benches are very ergonomic. For those of us who are getting older - I'm 57 - you know, I can stand up, and I can see to the person in the sling without, you know, taxing myself.

ALVARENGA: As I'm looking around, something interesting catches my eye - her altar.

BENNETT: So we're looking at the altar to Black kink, which is a combination of BDSM toys and an altar, really. You know, I added - my relatives are on the altar, so they get to look over my kink activities, you know?

ALVARENGA: (Laughter).

BENNETT: Some may have approved. Some may not. For Day of the Dead, I added some little ofrendas and skulls and things. The candles are just for, you know, ambience. And then those are Black Panther figurines. Yeah. I think my daughter got those for me.

ALVARENGA: On the altar is also where she keeps her tools.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

BENNETT: So I have floggers. I have cudgels. I have some little slappers. I have hooks over there for people who - I'm not going to use hooks on people, but I enjoy needle play. I have a stapler - a medical stapler. Those are fun.

ALVARENGA: And is that a fist? Like...

BENNETT: Yes. Yeah, it's a - yeah, one of my friends gave me this fist for fisting. Yes.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

BENNETT: I mean, kink, for me - it's definitely part of a - it's part of my spiritual path.

ALVARENGA: Spiritual path? Now we're speaking the same language.

BENNETT: The physical sensations of play - you get your endorphins. You know, some types of play take me out of my body and, like, I can commune with God - like, hook pulls, needles, needle play. That's - the hook pulls definitely - you just - you know, the hooks go in, and then, boom, there goes your spirit. And then other types of play bring me very much in my body, but mostly the communing with God. God loves great sex. God really appreciates pleasure. God loves kink.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: Bennett grew up with some religion, but not much. Her journey to finding spirituality came from going through a lot of things in life.

BENNETT: In 1985, I came to San Francisco, where I lived for 30 years - lived, died, everything, you know? I did everything there - played in bands, got into heroin, crack, alcohol, became homeless, went in and out of jail 12 times in three years. I felt like I had been Swiss cheese, and heroin filled up all the holes so that I became a whole person when I shot dope, at least for a time, before, like, actual addiction set in and homelessness set in and all that. And then once I got clean, you know, all the drugs drain out, and you're left with Swiss cheese again. So I filled that with a 12-step program, but kink was just a whole nother level. And you know, I'm a Sagittarius. I'm a dragon. I'm an extrovert. I'm nosy. I'm greedy. I be trying to get into s***. You know, I want to be in things. And so, you know, I love the high, the adrenaline. I want more s***.

ALVARENGA: She was three years sober when her girlfriend at the time introduced her to kink.

BENNETT: So my very first scene was - we agreed that I would recite the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. And if I missed a word - like, she had the book, and she was reading along. And if I missed a word, she would hit me. She would flog me. That was my first scene.

ALVARENGA: Kink can mean a lot of different things, but what I'm interested in is BDSM. Bennett breaks down her definition for me.

BENNETT: BDSM - there's the B and D part, which is for bondage and discipline. There's the DS part, which is for dominance and submission. And then there's the SM for sadism and masochism - BDSM. DS is a little more emotional involved. It's like if you want - you're trying to get somebody - you want someone to kneel. You want to have psychological control over them. You know, maybe you want to, like, tell them either what a bad boy they are or a good girl. You know, it's more of an emotional play.

ALVARENGA: I'm just, like, really new to the kink world - like, in full transparency. So I'm also, like, pain, why? I don't want to be in pain because I'm a good girl. I'm not a bad girl. I'm just kidding.

(LAUGHTER)

ALVARENGA: But what does pain offer? Is it pleasure for you? Is it pleasure for, like, the person receiving it? What is it able to transcend?

BENNETT: Mmm hmm. Well, you know, as you probably can imagine, there doesn't have to be pain involved in kink. Yes. So I - yes, but I just want to state that for the - our studio audience here (laughter). There doesn't have to be pain involved in kink. But for those who enjoy that, I mean, the pain is spiritual and transcendent. Like, say, for instance, if you're flogging - like, say you want to experience some pain, you know, there's a nice, long warmup. And what I like is rhythmic flogging. You can get into a bit of a trance. You get into a rhythm. You get into, you know, this motion - this repetitive motion. You know, it's sort of like - it's like chanting, but with an object. So the person receiving it can also get into a meditative state. That's the word I'm looking for. It's very meditative. If there are no sudden moves, you can get into, like, a deep, meditative trance. And those states of mind enhance spirituality and enhance your connection with God, with your higher power, with the universe, with whatever you want to call this energy that surrounds us.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: That sounds a lot like prayer.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: When I was in high school, every Sunday, I would show up at la iglesia Pentecostal a little before 6 a.m. to pray - just in time to have at least four hours of solitary prayer before the Sunday morning service. I would make my way to the pulpit - el altar. It was simple - no iconography, no extravagant features - yet the altar is the most sacred place in the church. There, you're at the feet of Jesus. I would drink and eat nothing - not even water - just fast and pray on my knees for hours. I was only a vessel for God. And the less I fell into the trap of human desires, the closer I was to him. I would pray to God to wash away my sins, but also to please help my junior varsity soccer team win a game.

By the second hour of prayer, my feet would tingle underneath me, but I refused to get up, for I was a sinner and didn't deserve my father's love. My knees were swollen and stamped with the pattern of the carpet. My stomach would growl and distract me from my prayer. To force myself to forget my hunger, I recited James 4:7 over and over and over again.

(Speaking Spanish) - therefore submit to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: The devil is a liar. I knew that the only way I could take up the full armor of God and not fall easily into temptation was through devotion and prayer. By the fourth hour, the lights of the church came on.

(SOUNDBITE OF LIGHT SWITCH CLICKING)

ALVARENGA: I was so deep in prayer that I wouldn't even hear the hundreds of creentes filing in. By then, I couldn't feel my legs anymore, and someone would need to help me stand up. Good. Jesus suffered more than this. He loved me more than I could ever love him back.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: My devotion in church - that fasting and praying on your knees for hours on end might sound a little intense to your average Catholic-on-Easter-Sunday type of Christian. But I wasn't forced to do this. I wanted to worship this way, and I did it all the time. It made me feel so full, so safe. So this got me thinking, why did putting myself through something so painful, so hard, feel so right, so good, so essential, addictive, even? Bennett tells me it has to do with control.

BENNETT: The pain - you know, like, you know, growing up, we didn't have control over a lot of s***. As a kid, you don't have - especially if you're from a family that likes to spank, you didn't have control over that. It's not like you can say, you know, today I don't feel like being spanked. You just received it. But in kink, especially as the person receiving, you have full control over that. You can stop the scene whenever you want. You can slow it down. And I think receiving consensual pain that you've agreed to and processing it through your body helps kind of heal - it heals some little traumas - not the big ones, maybe, but it could. But it heals little bits of trauma, and it enlivens and invigorates your cells in your body. It produces tons of endorphins. Getting endorphins from pain - it's a very interesting mix because something that's supposedly negative all the time - being hit - ooh, that sounds negative. But you're like, yeah, OK, please hit me in the way that I want to be hit.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: I realized, after talking to Bennett, that the thing connecting both prayer and being a sub is not so much the physical discomfort, but the feeling of control - the feeling of consent. When I prayed, I was able to let go of control on my own terms - you know, let go, let God. When I bottomed, I let go, let dom.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: Kink and prayer are both experiments in powerlessness and power. You opt in. You set parameters. But you still surrender yourself to whatever unpleasant or painful experience that might come. But in the end, you feel a relief, release, calmness. Kink gives me something. That's for sure. It's something I can turn to if I'm feeling overwhelmed. But I want more. There's still a feeling of transcendence, of becoming one with God, that I'm not getting. There was another part of my old spiritual life that I missed just as much as prayer - a part that kink couldn't really touch. It was a more mystical part - almost magical feeling that I thought I could maybe find through another popular indulgence in queer Oakland.

ALEX BELSER: Look. Psychedelic medicine brings about profound existential and spiritual experiences for people.

ALVARENGA: That's after the break.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: In the Pentecostal church, receiving the Holy Ghost is a direct experience with God. It's beautiful and kind of magical - a full-body experience. The first time I received the Holy Ghost was during the summer of my senior year of high school.

(SOUNDBITE OF RAIN PATTERING)

ALVARENGA: It was raining that day. My hair was damp and frizzy as I slid into the last row of the converted auditorium. (Speaking Spanish). Will you be ready when he calls your name, bellowed the youth pastor on stage. A group of teenagers in the front two rows jumped up and began to cheer, (chanting) Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. (Speaking Spanish), the pastor pleaded with us, practically sobbing. You'll never feel lonely again, he cried. La Hermana Marta (ph), a mentor for the youth group, approached me and laid her hand on my forehead as she began to speak in tongues. You are covered by the blood of Jesus, she told me in between her prayers. Two more women approached me and began to pray for me, as well. One of them lifted both of my arms up. She kept her hands underneath my elbows to support my arms from falling. My limbs began to feel heavy. My right arm began to shake involuntarily. I was no longer in control. My body swayed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I felt as I'd been plunged into a waterfall and couldn't get back up. I came back gasping for air, and out came the Holy Ghost, piercing white light. I started to speak in tongues. Acceptance, a blast of euphoria. An eternity went by. I was on my knees, weeping. La Hermana Marta was still holding me by my shoulders. Welcome home, sister, she whispered to me.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: Since leaving the church, I've never been able to find an experience that's quite like receiving the Holy Ghost. To this day, it's the most beautiful experience I've had in my life. This was the feeling I was looking for that I couldn't get with kink. And I want to feel it again. Some of my friends keep telling me that I can whenever I want to. Apparently, all I have to do is eat some magic mushrooms. Whenever they talk about being on psychedelics, honestly, it sounds pretty close to the Holy Ghost, the full-body mystical experience where the you as you know it dissolves into a greater existence and, as some of my friends have told me, where you talk to God. But I find it hard to believe that these people taking mushrooms on the weekend have the same experiences I did. And parts of me don't want it to be true. It sounds too easy. But if they're right, I have to know. So I decided to sit down with someone who studies how psychedelic mushrooms create mystical and spiritual experiences.

BELSER: Everybody's spiritual journey is different, so it's not the same mechanism for everybody. But there were commonalities - profound feelings of love, of interconnectedness, of reconnection with the self and the body and our history and our identities and an urge to connect with others.

ALVARENGA: This is Dr. Alex Belser. He's a psychologist and psychedelic researcher who has done research at Yale and NYU. I found out about him through a book he co-edited. It's an anthology called "Queering Psychedelics: From Oppression To Liberation In Psychedelic Medicine."

Every time I'm at a coffee shop reading it, I have, like, three people ask me, what is that? So good stuff (laughter).

BELSER: That's funny. I like that. Yeah.

ALVARENGA: Yeah. So thank you so much for helping me with my dating life.

BELSER: Absolutely.

ALVARENGA: (Laughter).

As I was looking into his background, I learned that his research looked into the exact question I had. How can mushrooms enhance people's spiritual well-being? Alex worked on a double blind trial at NYU with participants that had cancer and an anxiety-related diagnosis. They each received a dose of psilocybin, the chemical in magic mushrooms. And the majority of people...

BELSER: Had a clinically meaningful reduction in their depression scores.

ALVARENGA: They had a better sense of faith and spiritual well-being. Overall, they reported a greater quality of life, a feeling that lasted for months.

BELSER: So it wasn't just a one-day event but part of a broader inflection point for many people who had been really terribly suffering with not only cancer and chemo and surgery but also all the mental health problems of anxiety and tension and stress and depression that go along with it. You know, in these trials, we had something like 60% of people say this is among the top five most spiritual experiences of our entire lives.

ALVARENGA: So what exactly is a, quote, "spiritual experience" or what Alex referred to in his trials as a mystical experience?

BELSER: If their experience transcended their normal experience of time and space, that suggests that they were in touch with a mystical experience. And this could be, like, profound embodied experiences. We have visions inside the body or shaking in the body. And we have, like, profound releases in the body. So some of these patients report, like, ejecting black clouds of fear and hate from their body and then feeling like a new person afterward.

ALVARENGA: He says it's still a pretty squishy thing to define. Just to be clear, there's a lot we still don't know about psychedelics, and the effects are still being researched. But what Alex and other scientists found was that people who had a more intense spiritual experience had a better outcome.

BELSER: We see consistently is that if people have a high score on the mystical experience questionnaire, they statistically significantly have reduced scores for depression, for anxiety.

ALVARENGA: That really caught my attention - that the most intense, euphoric, out-of-body experiences were also the most healing.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ALVARENGA: I wonder, are these psychedelic experiences equally as meaningful as religious spiritual experiences? Do they feel the same in every way? Alex and his fellow scientist had the same question, and so they did a new study that was completely focused on religious leaders.

BELSER: For me, I think it's more about the - sort of, like, seeing people who have spent their whole life wrestling with the problem of God. Working with, like, an Orthodox minister and working with a rabbi and working with an imam - these are, like, radically different ways of making sense of confusing world and human predicament.

ALVARENGA: After they all tripped, Alex interviewed them.

BELSER: Many of them described a feeling of what we think of as an intimacy with God. It was as close as, like, the blood in their veins, the sense of God was - like, that God was right there with them, like, so intimate, so close that there was no separation between them and spirit.

ALVARENGA: They also asked the religious leaders directly.

BELSER: Are psychedelic experiences real? Are they spiritually real, or are they just the drugs talking? And so we would have reflections from these religious professionals about whether they felt their experience was, like, just a drug-induced hallucination or if it was something connected to spirit as they understood it. Like, for example, a Zen Buddhist said the intensity is different during psilocybin. There's just this sweetness of being, sweet, tender quality of being and seeing the world. A lot of people said something to this effect - that the psilocybin experience for them was the real deal.

ALVARENGA: So the religious leaders in the trial could experience transcendence, a feeling of closeness to God that they would normally only get in their usual practice, just by taking mushrooms. Some even said it renewed their relationship to their faith. But instead of comforting me, the idea of mushrooms being a real path to God actually scares me even more. What if I do enter the spiritual realm? What if I get the Holy Ghost again? What if I meet God? It's just too much. And a trip lasts for eight hours. No, this feels too far out of my control - not like kink, where I can stop the scene whenever I want. I feel like I don't have a way forward, like maybe this hole that losing my faith left in me - maybe I'll never be able to fill it. Kink alone isn't feeling this void. And mushrooms I'm just not ready for. At this point, I'm desperate to talk to someone who actually knows where I'm at, and I think that may mean going back to church.

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ALVARENGA: One Sunday a few years ago, when I was living in Berkeley, my ex-partner asked me if I would go to church with them. They were having a tough time at work, so they really wanted to go pray at a church they'd been to before. It was close to my house, about five minutes away on University Avenue. But Berkeley or not, it's really scary to go into a church as a visibly queer person. We sat huddled closely together with my arm around their shoulder. I wore bright red lipstick, which left a bright red mark on their cheek from me kissing on them. The music was upbeat. The prayer warriors were encouraging. Everything felt fine - that is, until the pastor began his sermon.

He began to talk about his experience growing up in the church, how women had to wear long skirts, men couldn't have beards and how only men were allowed to preach. Oh, s***. My internal alarm system went off. Girl, was I sitting in a Pentecostal church? I would have least worn a skirt if I would have known. The pastor continued preaching on how times have changed. The gays, he stumbled and looked dead at us. My ex-partner and I tensed up. Without saying a word to each other, we immediately prepared to leave, making note of all the exits in the church. We have to, you know, be accepting of the gays. OMG, a Pentecostal pastor trying to be queer-friendly - what kind of Berkeley s*** is this?

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ALVARENGA: When the morning service was over, the pastor stood outside of the church doors, shaking people's hands as they walked out. As we walked out of the church, he came over to us, gently shook my hand and said, I'm really, really happy you're here. I remember crying in the church parking lot after that. I'd never thought I'd live to see the day where a Pentecostal pastor made such an effort to see me.

So first of all, I'm a little nervous being here. There was so much inside of me that I'm like - I'm wearing a skirt. I'm wearing makeup. I should take my nose ring off. I was just - that was, like, all running through my mind just, like, really...

MIKE MCBRIDE: Coming here today.

ALVARENGA: Coming here today. Yeah.

MCBRIDE: Well, don't be nervous. There's no need for you to be nervous here.

ALVARENGA: This is Pastor Mike.

MCBRIDE: Mike McBride, pastor of The Way Church, peacemaker in the community, worked in gun violence, trying to save souls, bodies, hearts, minds, freedom fighting, Jesus following, demon slaying (laughter).

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ALVARENGA: I wanted to sit down with him to talk about my experience with the church and to really find out if I can have both, an acceptance of who I am now and the feeling of certainty and salvation I had when I belonged to the church. I figured if anyone would have an answer to my problem, it would be him.

Growing up Pentecostal in the '90s and 2000s was no joke in the South.

MCBRIDE: And imagine, you know, we grew up in it during the '70s and the '80s. And it was no joke back then.

ALVARENGA: Our churches had similar ideas, like an emphasis on conservative dress, strict interpretation of Scripture and a focus on preparing for the rapture. Right away, I get a little more comfortable because Pastor Mike gets it. It's like talking to my old youth pastor but a little more open-minded.

MCBRIDE: And so, you know, when you grow up in that space and you're always taught that you all are the only ones who are, like, saved - even, like, other Christians are not guaranteed to make it into heaven because they're not baptized in Jesus' name. Or if you're constantly told that any sin you do that's left unrepentant, you know, and then you get hit by a car or you die in your sleep or the rapture's going to happen, and you just, like, miss out - like, so you just have lots of dissonance around, man. You know, I want to be right, but this feels impossible.

ALVARENGA: That's exactly how it felt like for me. It was always brimstone and fire. And our God is a vengeful God. We move from a place of fear. And then he tells me he sees Pentecostalism as something that needs to constantly evolve.

MCBRIDE: As all things they require. You know, updates. Just like your iPhone needs a systems update, you know, so does the practice of our faith.

ALVARENGA: I never heard a pastor be willing to admit that the Pentecostal church doesn't get everything right or can feel challenging for them. It made me think about my experience when I was questioning the church.

I wanted to be a pastor so much, so much. And I knew that God could see me for who I was and, like, just - and my heart and my devoutness and my passion. But it was the church that always was like, your skirt is too short. You can't go to the altar with short sleeves. You can't be plucking your eyebrows because that means you're vain. You can't, you know, just be doing all these things. And, you know, because of that, I just found myself getting smaller and smaller. And it's like my family. And it's like the people that I grew up in. I was born in that church. I was baptized when I was 16. I was like - I know more about the church than I do about the world, and I'm still figuring that out.

MCBRIDE: Yeah. No, that's dope. I think I can resonate with lots of the dissonance and angst that most young people feel knowing there's something real there. But it's also rife with lots of things that aren't as life-giving and liberatory as we're often preached it is. There's lots of trauma for Pentecostal kids, particularly folks who are queer or women, folks who find their faith in other places and spaces because you always have that voice in the back of your head that's, like, condemning you and telling you you're not worthy. But, you know, turn up the other voice that is the same spirit that's telling you that you are and bathe in that, you know, as best as you can.

ALVARENGA: Yeah. Well, I didn't think I was going to start crying this soon. (Laughter). You're already speaking to my heart, speaking to my soul.

(LAUGHTER)

ALVARENGA: Maybe I would have stayed in the church if I had someone I could talk to about this.

MCBRIDE: It is, for many, much more fearful to lose your footing than it is to question the foundation on which you stand. And so I think a lot of people would rather just not ask the questions because they don't want to lose their footing. It's very hard to, like, be, like, a Holy Spirit Pentecostal, and then I'm just going to become what we would call, like, Baptists, where they don't have no, what we would say, standards, right? They smoke, drink, everything and still go to heaven. That was the joke, right?

ALVARENGA: Baptists and their loose ways.

MCBRIDE: Most people won't become Baptists. They'll just be like, OK, I'm just not going to - I'm just leaving the church altogether.

ALVARENGA: When I left the church, I left everything behind, not just the painful memories but also the things I loved. Pastor Mike says when you're questioning your faith, it's kind of like pulling out a piece of loose yarn from a sweater.

MCBRIDE: When you're trained in a fundamentalist space, the framework for how you make - how you logically make things have meaning is so tightly bound together that when you start to pull at one thread of it, the whole thing comes apart.

ALVARENGA: So I didn't even know I was a fundamentalist. I did not, you know?

MCBRIDE: I didn't know either. But, you know, it explains a lot.

(LAUGHTER)

MCBRIDE: It explains - you know, and it's not in a, like, disparaging way. But I can see why - as they say it in "Star Wars," I sense much struggle in you.

(LAUGHTER)

MCBRIDE: I can see why (laughter).

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ALVARENGA: When Pastor Mike told me I was actually raised fundamentalist, I realized that I've been looking for healing in a fundamentalist way. I've been looking for something to save me, for something to fix me, for something to help me transcend who I am, become someone else. I've been looking to be born again, and that was the problem. I thought that if I replaced church with kink or with mushrooms, I'd finally feel whole again. But that's not quite it. There's not one magic bullet that's going to do it all. And to believe that is to perpetuate the fundamentalism that made me escape the church in the first place. Maybe it's learning to hold all of these things within me at the same time - the church girl, the kinky bottom and, maybe someday, a mushroom fan. I'm still learning what it means to be spiritual outside of religion.

I haven't figured it out yet, but I'm learning more about myself and what makes me feel whole. Every night I still go to my altar. But it looks a little different now. I've got my Bible on my altar next to my crystals and tequila for my grandma and a necklace that represents Yemanja that I got in Brazil. My prayers sound a little different, too. I sit on a pillow, legs folded and spine straight. I turn off all my lights in my apartment. I breathe.

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ALVARENGA: My spiritual home isn't a place. It's a feeling, a state of being, an acceptance of my whole self. And I'll always be in pursuit of it.

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ALVARENGA: This special bonus episode was hosted and reported by me, Jess Alvarenga, in collaboration with LAist Studios. You can follow CODE SWITCH on Instagram at @NPRCodeSwitch. If email is more your thing, send a message to codeswitch@npr.org. And subscribe to the podcast on the NPR app or wherever you get your podcasts. And check out laist.com for more shows from their team. This episode was produced by Schuyler Swenson and Max Freedman. Our engineer was Gilly Moon. It was edited by Sophia Paliza-Carre, Casey Donahue and Lauren Gonzalez - original music by Emily Areta, aka DJ Emily, and Blue Dot Sessions. Special thanks to Yolanda Sangweni, Veralyn Williams, Dalia Mortada and B.A. Parker and Antonia Cereijido, Catherine Mailhouse and Shana Krochmal from LAist Studios. Thanks for listening.

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