Playing Priest

About a month ago, Cora wanted to play "Priest." She spent the morning preparing for the role, including making a special bowl out of clay to hold the holy water. After the bowl had baked and cooled, she finished her preparations and called us into the living room. The piano bench was our pew.

She broke bread and invited us to take communion. We each drank from the communal cup. She sprinkled us with holy water using an orange KitchenAid teaspoon. She taught us the story of Jesus in Gethsemane, had us contemplate our interactions with others, and how we could do better. When she finished, she blessed and sent us on our way. 

How can I ever say, "Honey Child, no matter what you feel, nor how much you want something, as it stands, both in your school and in the faith tradition of you mother, you cannot be a priest." 

I won't ever tell her that. 

I'll tell her that sometimes a well-meaning community will defend something because it's what they know, not because it should be upheld. And sometimes the position of those we love will make us question ourselves, and sometimes they won't remember to be kind, but it doesn't mean we can't live what we know so deep down inside is right. 

Someday we'll collectively be ready.


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