Saturday, December 18, 2010

Religious Feeling

To church they always wore their dress hats, both my grandmother and my grandfather, and overcoats and dress shoes, and she carried her big pocket book. I'd squirm and daydream and stare at the statues and watch for a sign like blood seeping from the wounds of Christ or momentary eye contact with a saint. She would always make sure I had a dollar bill to put in the collection basket and my palms would sweat as I waited. The words, so often repeated, frustrated me. The priest almost never reached me. The statues, the candles, the incense, the silence, the mystery - those did.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

Visitor Map