The idea of asking a priest for his blessing as we held hands and bowed our heads would have been inconceivable. Despite our confusion and willingness to sin, we still knew the Church we were raised in did not approve of what we were doing.
I got marriage wrong, twice. Here’s why I’m grateful a priest never blessed me for being in that state.
When I was in college, I entered into a relationship with another woman. She was a practicing Catholic; I was less practicing but more an occasional Catholic.
Weekly Mass attendance was still part of her routine, and we would sometimes go together. Usually, her sister went with us, so it felt more like a group activity than us going “as a couple.”
When we did go, I always felt self-conscious at the sign of peace, wondering if people would be able to tell that we were together by the way we quickly hugged one another. The same went for walking up for Holy Communion; I wondered if someone might look at me and know.
I now realize that feeling was Jesus looking at me—and knowing.
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