22 January 2016

Not in those heels, darling.

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Some of us aren't entirely with the programme on this one.

Feet. I don't tend to think about feet much. I'm not that keen on shoes either, for a female, although they are useful things to have. So the latest news on feet from Rome was rather disturbing. It's one of those *things* that's been *happening* in my neck of the woods for as long as I can remember, along with recommissioning of Eucharistic ministers on Maundy Thursday.

Ordinarily on Sundays, laity process in with the Gospel held above the head, and let's not forget the fun me, myself, and I, praise songs accompanied by the plug-in instruments. Genuflection's one of those optional extras too.

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Oh no! Forgot to book the mani-pedi for Holy Week!

So while I could feel the blood pressure rising at the continuation of the dumbing of the Faith, it wasn't entirely a surprise. I'm no theologian, I'm a rosary counter, but I know when something is wrong, and this, this is wrong. Always has been, always will be. Is there something missing in my psyche, because I don't feel disadvantaged, marginalised, overlooked, second-class or insignificant because women don't have their feet washed?

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Will it make a difference? Probably not where I am. It's a shoo-in here already.

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