I am not the most devout Christian in the world, and I don’t know everything that the Bible says, but Kevin and I were both raised Catholic, and we are bringing our children up that way, too. We try our best to attend church every week, and we are slowly teaching Cole (and one day, Chloe) about religion. He knows the Sign of the Cross (kind of) and that we take turns standing and sitting and kneeling (Catholic Olympics, as a friend calls it) and that he blesses himself with holy water when we leave. In his growing quest for knowledge, Cole threw me for a loop in church this past Sunday.
“Who is that man?” Points to the large Jesus on the cross at the front of the church.
“Jesus,” I say, hoping that is all he wants to know.
“Why is he standing there?” Hmm, good question.
“He’s on the cross.”
“What’s that stuck on his hands and feet?” Points to his own hands and feet.
“Nails to keep him on the cross.”
“Why they do that?” Oh, boy. How do I handle this one?
“Well, a long time ago, people were upset with Jesus, so they put him on a cross with nails and he died there. But he didn’t mind because he loves us. And it was okay because he woke up 3 days later and went to live in heaven with his daddy.”
“Oh. I want a donut.” End of conversation. Thank God. (No pun intended.)
I’m looking forward to many, many more questions in the future about religion and a ton of other topics that I won’t be fully prepared for. Kind of.
