Stepping Into the Light
Christopher Thomas
One morning at Mass, my soul began
sagging as if someone had opened a valve
releasing the spirit that held it securely in place.
The Pope had just told the world that discussing
women’s ordination was now equally as sinful
as ordaining them. Days before, the men
of the Holy Office declared that inclusive language
bothersome to the traditions they had grown
to cherish and depend on. My bishop had just
fired a God-fearing nun because her ideas about
women’s rights didn’t all conform to his.
The officiating priest I knew to be a sexist,
an elitist, a brownnoser, and a man who took
photos of scantly glad boys. Somewhere
in my meditations that morning, the revelations
from the Dead Sea Scroll texts kept secret
by the very church claiming to embrace me,
unveiled their startling secrets more vividly
than any bead I held in my hand. From the pulpit
I heard the brownnosing priest tell us we were
not really the body of Christ, that Jesus only became
truly present when transubstantiated by him.
I walked out before he finished, refusing to kneel
because he stood in the way of the cross.
