Whenever Gato, a large, burly gang member, is telling a story and approaching the climax, he wants to say “And lo and behold” but says instead “And holy befold.” I never correct him, because his version is better than the original—indeed, it is the sacred, the holy, unfolding right before our eyes. We tend to think the sacred has to look a certain way. In our minds, we call central casting to supply cathedral spires, incense, jewel-encrusted chalices, angelic choirs. When imagining the sacred, we think of church sanctuary rather than living room; chalice instead of cup; ordained male priest
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