Life After Lying Prostrate on the Floor of Grace Cathedral

Last updated on: June 18, 2026 at 6:52 pm by Cara Meredith

0 Comments

Life After Lying Prostrate on the Floor of Grace Cathedral 2026-06-18T18:52:26-07:00 Cara Meredith

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

A couple of weeks ago, six other folks and I met at 8:15 on a Saturday morning at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. Whether we drove by car or took public transportation, each of us arrived with our families and our loved ones. We dressed mostly in black, my green and white flowered dress the exception to the rule, white collars around each of our necks.

Nearly two hours later, we paraded into the cathedral, 750 people in the pews, the choir loft, and on the front steps of the altar too. “All Creatures of Our God and King” was the opening hymn that morning, that much I recall, but when I opened my mouth to sing a song I’ve been singing since childhood, I couldn’t sing.

A lump formed in my throat, the kind that warns of pending tears and gasping breaths if you even try to sing.

So, I didn’t sing the opening hymn. Instead, I just looked around me and tried to take it all in: how it felt like every eye was on me as I walked down the long aisle, flag bearers in front of me, presenters and clergy advocates behind me. Not unlike a bride, I wore white that day: a flowing alb with lace at the sleeves and near the hemline, a curled and expansive neckline that showed the collar if you really looked hard enough.

Were you there in the cathedral that day, you might recall the conversations we’ve had over the years. Even if I’ve not written super publicly about it (for the ordination journey is two-sided process of discernment, up until the day it actually happens), I’d tell you about how this was a six-year discernment journey. Maybe I’d tell you about how I met with my rector for coffee the week before the world shut down: “I think I’m supposed to be a priest,” I said to him, not remembering if I whispered the words or said it more emphatically, more definitively.

Maybe I’d tell you about how there was a slow unfolding of the next right thing, which meant continuing to walk down a path of ordination even when I didn’t believe it would happen, even when others didn’t believe it should happen for me.

But then, it happened.

Just as many of you have been with me since I started writing for Patheos in 2018, you know a different layer of the story. You’ve watched me reckon with white evangelicalism; you’ve witnessed me wrestle with belonging and identity; you’ve seen me find a find a way to a tradition that welcomes everyone at the table.

And now I’ve been ordained into that tradition, which is to say, into the Episcopal Church.

Lying prostrate on the floor of Grace Cathedral

Not more than twenty minutes after walking down the aisle, the seven of us walked forward. We stood before the front altar, and then, just as the cantor began to sing, lay prostrate before the altar.

This is not something that is required for ordination but it is something our crew collectively decided to do together. Chins and noses to the carpet, arms spread to the side, we lay prostrate in a gesture of humility and devotion – to God, to the bishop, and to the people gathered around us that day.

What then is life like after lying prostrate on the floor of Grace Cathedral? What do I see when I look back at the woman who used to lead camp worship songs and shout the name of Jesus into the microphone at church camp, for hundreds of children and youth to hear, compared to the woman who just rose from the floor of a renowned Episcopal cathedral at the top of Nob Hill?

In some ways, not much is different. In other ways, everything is different.

I don’t wear a collar every day now, but I am wearing one every Sunday now. And when I do wear it, I feel a new kind of power alive within me: I do not wear this collar on my own, but I wear it with a newfangled power and belief of those who have journeyed and walked beside me. I wear it with the backing of the church I’ve come to call home and at the hands of the man who laid hands on me and told me I was officially in, that I was now a deacon in the Episcopal Church.

In more ways than one, just as this column is called Coloring Outside the Lines, I supposed you could say I’ve just colored outside one of the biggest of them all.

Guess that tracks.

Women in Religion

About Cara Meredith

Cara Meredith is a writer, speaker, and editor who writes at the intersection of spirituality and culture. A former high school English teacher and nonprofit outreach director, her writing has appeared in numerous print and online publications. The author of Church Camp (Broadleaf) and The Color Of Life (Zondervan), she holds a Masters of Theology and lives in Oakland, California with her family. You can read more about the author here.

Previous Post

December 1, 2025

Giving Machines are running with the idea of doing good