Reflection (after attending a mass in mexico)

Today, more than ever before, it seems like a travesty to me: Light skinned man Robed in fine white linens with gold trim, Raising the glittering chalice, Lifting his youthful face towards the heavens, saying Take this, all of you… In the pew in front of me a dark skinned woman Wrapped in a threadbare shawl Holds a baby close to her. Another one beside her, A girl with a ragged dress but careful braids and a fistful of her mom’s skirt. Tired eyes, Rough skin, The woman whispers extra prayers as she gazes at the priest. Back home I’d start discussions over dinner about feminism and theology and women’s ordination, and we’d talk ourselves in circles until someone would pull the privilege card: Why waste your energy on this? Women in other parts of the world are worrying about much more urgent matters. And they’d be right. And it’d seem trivial. Until today When the priest’s proud voice echoes This is my body. In front of me she sits, Weakened bones, child at her breast. Her body knows sacrifice. Outside there are others waiting, Frail hands outstretched, hoping To find Christ’s love In just one While each hour Around the world Institutionally advantaged men Play the role of martyr Before congregations of poor mothers.