We open on a rural but prosperous church in south central Indiana. A young boy is sitting in a pew flanked by his older brother on his left and his mother on his right. He fidgets. Let me take that back, it isn't a pew. Pews are too "old-fashioned" for this straightforward, progressive church. The truly zealous fill their sanctuary with orange plastic chairs and bolt them to the floor. Marooned in his shiny, pious, orange chair, the boy takes a quick glance towards his mother. She is listening in that seemingly attentive way that gets on his nerves yet depresses him. Her head seems to mag…
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