Church Visit

The most interesting thing I learned was that church (Roman Catholic) is irresponsibly lame. This is my thesis statement (this is my way of sticking it to the system). It was like an aerobic musical at the old folks home. I should have known better, because it was a dreary, rainy morning; bad omen. Entering the church, I found it a bit disappointing. First off, I have not been in a church save for the few funerals and weddings I have had to witness over the many years. But when going to church on a Sunday, I half expected to see God standing at the door to greet me. Oddly enough, God looks a lot like Merlin to me. Long beard, wizardry, flowing robe, striking pose, gnarled staff, pointed hat, etc. Boy was that a let down.

A friend of mine recommended the balcony seats, because that is apparently where God’s rebels sit (i.e. the cool kids). However, I had never been in the church before, so I ended up sitting in the back to avoid detection. The rosary was going on, which scared the living daylights out of me. It was far too much conformity and synchronicity for me. It was a bit repetitive and people kept staring at me for not praying, like I was some dirt worshipping heathen (which I am). Upon looking around, I notice a stained glass window of Jesus, who is oddly pale and sickly despite his Middle Eastern heritage. I actually thought about asking someone if they couldn’t get the right shade of brown or something, but I chose to stifle myself.

Slowly but surely, I am being surrounded by ancient and chronologically advanced elderly folk. Mass begins and trying to take notes is pretty hard with all the standing and sitting and what-have-you. Some greeting process begins, forcing me to talk to half a dozen people who are at least sixty years older than me. Shaking their hands is like grabbing a hold of death and telling him what a lovely rainy miserable morning it is. I don’t want to tell anyone that I’m merely a spectator in the gladiatorial realm of God.

The process of church became very predictable after about the first fifteen minutes. Pray and sing, pray and sing, pray and sing… Then the priest man (or the Holy Enforcer as I call him) asks the children to leave the room for something (hopefully not groping or any of that stuff). I don’t even bother looking at any of the hymnbooks or even attempting to show interest in what is going on around me. It’s not really a case of me lacking respect for everyone as much as it was a severe case of being lazy. I have to read for college, I’m not going to read in my free time. That’s for squares.

Anointments followed, which was a hilarious experience. First, the priest took the time to explain how Jesus was touching people through him, which almost made me laugh. Maybe Freud was right. Next, the priest made it crystal clear that he would do anointments in sections, starting with the middle and ending with the side that I happened to be sitting at. There was no way anyone could mess this up. Now allow me to tell you how someone messed this up. People from the first section went up as they were supposed to, but two old women sitting in front of me decided, “Hey! I want first dibs on the Jesus juice! I don’t have to wait for these people.” Apparently these ladies were racists or something, because that’s how I just portrayed them in the previous sentence. Seeing as I still have another page to go and I’m running out of material/made-up happenings, I’ll go into more detail about the anointing process:

The priest did take time to talk about the anointing process about drawing crosses with his thumb on people’s foreheads/palms with oil. He must have been doing it for my knowledge, because everyone else in the church seemed to have a pretty good idea of what was going on. Only the sick and feeble-minded…I mean enfeebled were suppose to go up. I was tempted to go up and tell him I had a mean cold sore that was bothering the Dickens out of me. The whole process took a good fifteen to twenty minutes to get over with. During all of this, I pondered if Jesus invented the beard. Even if he didn’t, he clearly invented the sideburns. I don’t know why.

More hymns. Catholics seem to be a pretty musical group. No wonder Jesus was a super star. Or maybe that was just a movie I saw. And the constant standing and sitting annoyed me. Wouldn’t it be easier to just stand and do all the prayers in one big Jesus prayer-block? Then there was peace, which was foretold by the priest saying ‘peace’ every three seconds. I have already shaken the hands of the people around me, but now I’m supposed to do it and say ‘peace’ to them. It has magical powers. Again, it was weird touching the hands of people who probably voted for FDR…the first time.

I lost consciousness somewhere after this and regained it around communion. Well, I just lost interest in what was happening around me and gave up listening to the priest after the whole peace shenanigans. The presentation of communion started on Monday and ended on Friday. It honestly should not take that long to throw some awful wafery cardboard to people. That and some jerks in the beginning slurped too much Jesus wine so none was left for the slackers in the back. Real mature. I chose not to partake in the communion process because the idea of drinking from a cup that fifteen people who were born in the Cretaceous period had slobbered all over didn’t arouse my interest. That and there was probably a few half eaten wafers floating around in it. And wiping the glass off with a towel doesn’t make it sterile. I’m no scientist, but I think I have that one figured out.

Interestingly enough, I went to the bathroom during communion. Normally I wouldn’t talk about stuff like this, but it was part of the experience. First off, some pantless kid was running around unattended in the bathroom. For some reason, the idea of pantless children in a church didn’t shock me. Then I pondered if it was all right to actually urinate in God’s house. It just seemed a bit disrespectful to me at the time. It didn’t stop me, of course, but I did give it some thought. It’s the thought that counts, or at least that is what people tell me.

In retrospect, there should have been a big sign in front of the church that said, “Get ready to be bombarded with Jesus!” Or maybe, “Be prepared for a blitzkrieg of Jesus!” Church is certainly something that I don’t enjoy, and that discomfort grew substantially in the hour I sat in there today. It’s not that I disrespect religion (though I’m sure it looks that way), but I’d prefer to have my Sundays open for important stuff, like sleeping and doing homework that I have left stacked irresponsibly high over the past week. In conclusion, Roman Catholicism isn’t my cup of tea (read as sacramental wine in this case). In further conclusion, go Steelers.