Remember when you studied so hard, so vehemently
to win the heart of god hidden in Luther’s words.
You and other middle schoolers huddled around the pastor every Saturday morning.
Scrambling for understanding, searching for truth.
Then, sitting in front of the Congregation. Holding your breath.
What will he ask of you? Will your answer be true?
13 and on trial for your soul.
Somehow, you survive the test. And let out a sigh.
Anticipation of your first taking of the Host, your initiation into the Mystery.
Unleavened bread sticking to the top of your dry mouth and vinegary wine choking your straining throat.
And, then, what is all the fuss?
Transformation should feel like something, right?
Parents hug you, smile and welcome you into the Way.
Was this when you knew? Was this when you grew up? When you realized you could never belong?