Page 30 of Holly Jolly Heresy
“What aren’t you saying?”
She sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair out of her face as she turned back to him. “It’s not about the uniform violation, and it’s not just this kid.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Bruce Day is waging war on every student who dares to be anything other than a model Catholic, and he believes he has the full support of the Church.Thatis the issue you need to address with him. Not the uniform violation.”
His headache intensified, like there were strings behind his eyes slowly being pulled tighter and tighter. “It’s a Catholic school, Molly. He does have the support of the Church.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded tightly. When she made to turn away again, he caught her around the waist, stopping her mid spin. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he bent his knees, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “But he doesn’t havemysupport. And I will let him know I do not believe he has God’s either.”
Her eyes flashed to his. “He won’t believe you.”
“He’s entitled to his own relationship with God. And so are those kids, no matter what he thinks the Church says.”
“How can you stand it? How can you believe the teachings are wrong and perpetuate them anyway?”
“Both can be true. The Church can be flawed and also be worth preserving.”
“When too much of the foundation is rotten, you don’t try to preserve the house. You knock the whole damn thing down and build something new.”
He dug his hand into his hair, tugging at the ends. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a metaphor. How much of the Church needs to be flawed before it’s no longer worth perpetuating its teachings? How many rotten boards can be a part of the frame before you’re better off starting fresh?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep up with her metaphors. “You want me to start a new religion?”
“No. I’m just trying to understand where your tipping point is. How much of the religion you preach must be antithetical to your own beliefs before you’re no longer willing to align yourself with it?”
He blinked at her, the question reverberating through his bones, drawing the fraying threads of his convictions to the surface, doubt and shame winding around his limbs and binding him in a never-ending battle between his intentions and his reality. “I’m not the only one aligning myself with the Church. Last time I checked, you work for it too.”
Something like disbelief flashed across her face. “I work for the school.”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
Anger flickered in her eyes. “Maybe I won’t for much longer.”
“What does that mean?” She pressed her lips together, clearly not willing to elaborate. “What am I supposed to do, Molly? It’s been twenty-five years. This is all I know.”
“But it’s not all you are!”
He hung his head and huffed out a breath. She slipped her hand into his, palm to palm, fingers lacing together as though she could knit together those fraying threads with their interlocked hands.
“You do so much good, Caleb. You help so many of the kids you set out to reach when you joined the priesthood. Sometimes I wonder…”
“What?”
“How many more could you reach if you weren’t required to put yourself in opposition to the Church to do so?”
“If I weren’t a priest, you mean.” He’d never said the words out loud before to anyone but his confessor and the Bishop, given voice to the fragile wisp of an idea flickering in the darkest recesses of his heart.
She dropped his hand. The loss of her touch stung. “I’m just trying to understand,” she repeated, her voice small.
“So am I.”
“You said God sent you a sign when you were in college and so you became a priest. But what about the other signs he’s been sending you?”
“God hasn’t spoken to me in years,” he said, unable to contain the bitterness in his voice.
