Pay, Pray and Obey — A Meditation

I was among the last

of the pay, pray, and obey generation—

taught to bow my head,

memorize the catechism by rote,

recite prayers like clockwork gears,

confess sins on first Fridays,

and perform the penance assigned,

a Hail Mary for each failure.

It was discipline, yes—

and it was indoctrination,

a branding iron pressed early,

leaving marks I still trace with my soul.

In adulthood,

I search my heart like a field

littered with both treasure and landmines,

trying to separate

the true faith

from the residue of fear and guilt

disguised as virtue.

My Church—

not the mystical Bride,

but the institution—

has proven herself more human

than holy at times.

Infallibility is claimed

only under a strict veil,

and never once in my lifetime.

But fallibility—

oh, that’s been evident in scandal,

in harm,

in silence when there should have been cries.

And now it tries—

to atone,

to bow its own head

before the wounded.

Yet some wounds

can’t be healed with words

or even prayers.

They call for justice

sharp as steel.

Forgiveness—

a rare and precious grace—

may come,

but not without truth.

Not without change.

I pray—still—

not as a child obeying command,

but as a soul seeking light.

And I hope

our newly chosen Holy Father

feels the weight of what has been,

and the urgency

of what must now be.