The Uneasy Yoke

When I was eight, I went to a Saturday-night sleepover at a friend’s house. The next morning, before my mom could pick me up, my friend’s mother bundled me up in my coat and we all went off to church. I remember the crisp white of the newly painted pews in the great lofty sunlit space. Bulletin boards crowded with colorful flyers for bake sales and charity auctions. Children’s crayon drawings in the halls. The minister in long white robes delivered a sermon that was boring, but pleasant enough for me to daydream while looking at the rainbow-tiled windows. The church was one of many liberal Unitarian churches scattered across Boston, with “Save Darfur” banners and pride flags hanging on the doors.

The pastor called the children in the audience to sit with him on the stairs before the altar, and