A Non-denominational Jew Weighs in on the Conclave and Catholic Leadership
Fr. Fred came off more as a hippie than a priest. He wore the collar, but other than that, you never would have guessed he was a man of the cloth. He was a small man, cute, even. His office was adorned with macramé plant holders and beanbag chairs and quilts. It felt like a new-age birthing center without the feminists.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?