Church for Jewish Girls

My kids aren't religious, mostly by virtue of being born to a dad who's Jewish and a mom who's Methodist. But our hotel in Barcelona is literally steps (maybe 30) from the entrance to the venerable Catedral. It was important to me, for artistic and historic reasons as a tourist, that the girls and I visit. Raf is not much for churches, so he went in search of a UPS place (to ship back a few boxes of our excess crap to lighten our luggage before our big train travel day on Monday) while we toured the church.

It was hard for me to explain to my girls why people would erect such a gorgeous building to celebrate the brutal death of a man (even if that guy was Jesus).

Serena: But Mommy, who was Jesus?
Me: The son of God.
Serena: But how did they know?
Me: I don't remember. But he was Jewish, too.
Serena: Well, that doesn't even make sense. Is this a Jewish church?
Marlowe: Mommy, who's that girl?
Me: Mary, Jesus' mom.
Serena: So she was married to God?
Me: No, she was married to Joseph.
Serena: Wait a minute...(thinks about it, tries to wrap her pre-sex-ed mind around the idea of Mary and God hooking up) What?
Marlowe: Why is that girl Mary holding a bleeding guy?
Me: That's Jesus. He was dying.
Serena: What? How?
Me: Uh, on a cross. He, uh, starved to death.
Serena: But why is he bleeding if he only starved to death?
Me: Uh...
Marlowe: Look! Geese! (Kids run outdoors to the courtyard.)

As beautiful as the church was, and there were choirboys singing like angels inside, I think we were all happy to step back out into the sunshine.