Notes from the front pew
I went to church a couple of months ago, and I didn’t burst into flames or anything like that, contrary to my expectations.
I was born and raised Catholic, and went to Catholic grade school and high school, but I’m not a practicing Catholic. I’m about as Catholic as Martin Luther.
My mom and dad came into town and I thought they might want to go to church on a Sunday, being Catholics in the non-nominal, actual practical practicing way.
“I’m touched that you’d take us to church,” my mom said. “I’m shocked,” my dad said. “I mean, I’m not . . .
