The priest was aware of this. When he mentioned that today was Pentecost, and asked the child if he could tell us, the attending crowd, what Pentecost was, we all stood there wondering: ‘Pentecost’?
“When Jesus resurrected?” tried the godfather.
“No, that’s Easter,” replied the priest.
I was of no help either. Pentecost? I don’t think we celebrate that in Holland, I am thinking.
|My son at the ruins of Palmyra, in 2003. I think he's sporting some type of toy machine gun. Seems quite in place.|
How does a sunni muslim end up with a couple of monks as friends?
They hadn’t gone very far down, and hubbie was able to clamber down and help the men get out of the car. They were four monks, on their way to a nearby monastery.
The baptized child is the son of a friend of mine. She’s a christian, from Europe, married to a muslim, from Lebanon. Both are non-religious, so they never had an issue with the fact that all of their children – as stipulated by local law - follow the religion of their father.
“No problem,” replied the husband, “we’ll just make him one, if that is what it takes.”
They decided to go ahead anyway. If Daash comes to town, there won’t be much left to inherit anyways.
“What am I?” she wants to know.
“No, like really.”
“That’s a choice you can make when you're 18,” I reply.
“Oh, like the tattoo and the piercing?”
Good thing her dad and the priest were not within earshot.