Chapter 11 - THE SECOND MEETINGThe parents held what Daniel Monroe jokingly called “the summit.”
It happened in the fellowship hall around a round table with coffee, cookies, and more caution than international diplomacy.
Rachel and Mark Bennett sat on one side.
Elena and Daniel Monroe sat on the other.
The children were twenty feet away drawing pictures.
Mark cleared his throat.
“So Noah says they made an agreement.”
Daniel nodded.
“Clara calls it a deal.”
Elena looked at Rachel.
“I'm comfortable with Clara visiting your church if we're with her.”
Rachel nodded.
“Same for Noah.”
Mark shifted.
“Can I say something without everybody assuming I'm attacking anyone?”
Daniel smiled.
“That's an excellent beginning.”
Mark sighed.
“I grew up hearing a lot of things about Catholics.”
Elena's eyebrows rose.
“Such as?”
Rachel gave him a warning look.
“Maybe we don't need the list.”
“No, it's fine,” Elena said.
Mark hesitated.
“Things about worship. Mary. Tradition. Salvation.”
Elena leaned back.
“And I've heard plenty about Baptists.”
Daniel muttered:
“Here we go.”
But Elena smiled.
“I'm not offended. I'm saying the kids aren't the only ones who inherit assumptions.”
That quieted the table.
Rachel took a sip of coffee.
“What would the goal be?”
“Goal?” Daniel asked.
“Of visiting.”
Elena answered.
“Seeing rather than imagining.”
Rachel liked that.
Mark remained unsure.
“What if it confuses them more?”
Daniel shrugged.
“They're already confused.”
That was hard to argue.
The following Sunday, Clara attended the Bennetts' Southern Baptist church.
She sat between Noah and Elena.
The music surprised her most.
There was a choir.
A band.
People sang loudly.
Very loudly.
Clara leaned toward Noah.
“Everyone's yelling.”
Noah whispered:
“They're singing.”
“Same thing.”
Elena covered a laugh.
During the sermon, Clara opened the Bible Noah handed her.
She tried to follow.
Afterward, she asked Pastor Jim why there weren't statues.
Pastor Jim smiled.
“Different Christian traditions use church spaces differently.”
“Do you think statues are bad?”
Mark visibly tensed.
Pastor Jim did not.
“I think what matters is whether something helps a person worship God faithfully or becomes something it shouldn't.”
Clara frowned.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is.”
She sighed.
“Adults keep saying that.”
The next week, Noah attended Mass with the Monroes.
He watched everything.
Standing.
Sitting.
Kneeling.
He whispered questions until Rachel had to remind him to lower his voice.
“Why do they kneel?”
“Why is that candle there?”
“Why does the priest wear that?”
“Why can't I receive Communion?”
That last question came loudly enough for three people to turn.
Rachel went red.
After Mass, Father Michael spoke with Noah.
“Your mother told me you've been asking good questions.”
“People keep calling them good when they don't know the answers.”
Father Michael laughed.
“That's sometimes how you recognize a good question.”
Noah pointed toward the sanctuary.
“Do you think Baptists are wrong?”
Rachel inhaled sharply.
Father Michael looked at Noah.
“I think Catholics and Baptists disagree about important things.”
“But do you think we're wrong?”
“About some things, yes.”
Noah seemed satisfied by the honesty.
“Pastor Jim probably thinks you're wrong about some things too.”
“I expect he does.”
“Does that make you mad?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Father Michael smiled.
“Because disagreement isn't an emergency.”
That sentence followed Noah home.
At the next community gathering, he repeated it to Clara.
“Father Michael says disagreement isn't an emergency.”
Clara looked impressed.
“I like that.”
“So do I.”
They sat in the same pew where the original argument had happened.
Clara studied Noah's Bible.
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“Does God care what church I go to?”
Noah froze.
He could have repeated something his mother said.
He could have guessed.
Instead he answered:
“I don't know.”
Clara nodded.
Noah thought for a moment.
“I think God cares about us.”
Then he turned.
Rachel was walking past the aisle.
“Mom?”
She stopped.
“Is that okay to say?”
Rachel looked at him.
There was something in his question she hadn't expected.
Not curiosity.
Caution.
He was worried about saying the wrong thing.
Rachel walked toward him.
“You don't need my permission for every thought about God.”
“But what if I say it wrong?”
Clara looked at Elena.
“Yeah. What if we say it wrong?”
Both mothers stood silent.
The children had spent weeks learning adults didn't know everything.
May you like
Now they were afraid uncertainty itself might be dangerous.
That, Rachel realized, was not what she wanted either.
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