"What do people do in this place?"
- Adam, age 8, standing inside a church exposing his guilt-ridden mother's failure at raising a non-heathen.
My mother always said her two biggest regrets in raising me were that she didn't take me to the eye doctor as often as she should have and that we rarely went to church as a family.
I don't have 20/20 vision, but I also don't need glasses. I'm constantly reading and my handwriting is smaller than this font. I'm not sure how often a mother is expected to take her son to the eye doctor, but by most accounts, she did just fine.
The church thing... well, that's another story.
I had blocked tear ducts as a kid that required
two separate surgeries. My mom (lower right) brought me
to see these two nuns who prayed I wouldn't die
I didn't die and my mom repaid the nuns by
I didn't die and my mom repaid the nuns by
never going to church again.
I don't understand church.
And when I say "church," I'd like to include temples, mosques, and all other houses of worship. For the sake of this blog however, I'm going to type "church" because it's easier than qualifying every possible religious facility.
I'd better cool my jets here for a second and clarify that this is not going to be an anti-religion blog. This isn't 1940 and I'm not from Russia. I'm not calling spirituality, one's personal beliefs, or religion itself silly. I don't think those things are silly and even if I did, I'd be in the severe minority and it would be stupid for me to say so.
But the actual ritual of attending church seems silly.
And it isn't as if I've got no church background. Quite honestly, I might have a more well-rounded church background than the average person - I lived in a Catholic nunnery for 11 months for God's sake...!
Well, okay it wasn't for His sake necessarily, but I'm sure He didn't mind.
When I was 8-years-old, my best friend was a boy named Charles. When I'd sleep over at his house on Saturdays, his family would take me to their Baptist church services the following morning. They never really asked if I had any interest in going to their church and I never considered my own opinion on the matter. Frankly, I didn't care. At that point, I didn't really know what church was.
When I was 8-years-old, my best friend was a boy named Charles. When I'd sleep over at his house on Saturdays, his family would take me to their Baptist church services the following morning. They never really asked if I had any interest in going to their church and I never considered my own opinion on the matter. Frankly, I didn't care. At that point, I didn't really know what church was.
When I got inside the massive house of worship, it was a hullabaloo of excitement. I must have seen church services on old episodes of "Dallas" or "Who's the Boss?" or something because whatever my expectation of church at that point might have been, they were far exceeded that first day of Charles' Baptist church.*
I can't imagine church getting any better than this. Whooping, hollering, jumping, sweating (so much sweating). Isn't this the way church should be organized? Protestants and Catholics and Jews all over the world constantly fall asleep on Sunday mornings, but not the Baptists. The Baptists might pass out (which I believe is called "gettin' gripped" or perhaps "catchin' the Holy Ghost"), but that's different from falling asleep.
When I go to a rock concert, I tend to jump and clap and yell to high Heaven. When I was at Baptist Church, I tended to jump and clap and yell to high Heaven. I've always considered rock'n'roll more of a religion than anything else. Clearly, the Baptists are on the same page.
Many years later I found myself teaching in a Catholic school. I'm not Catholic. I don't have anything against Catholics. Some of my best friends are Catholic. So are some of my worst enemies. Every Monday, the students would begin their day in the school's modest chapel for an hour service. I never felt comfortable solemnly praying in a house of worship of which I was not a member.
Many years later I found myself teaching in a Catholic school. I'm not Catholic. I don't have anything against Catholics. Some of my best friends are Catholic. So are some of my worst enemies. Every Monday, the students would begin their day in the school's modest chapel for an hour service. I never felt comfortable solemnly praying in a house of worship of which I was not a member.
I never know what to do when everyone gets up to eat the wafer and drink the wine. It's like a lazy witch-hunt. Those who go for a snack are fine, those standing in the aisle like schmucks with empty tummys are to be burned at the stake after our Godfaring is done.
But I can't just go up there and take the sacrament, can I? That's like, really bad, right? I picture my tongue burning for eternity. Like eating hot salsa every minute until I'm 90-years-old.
Anyway, one September Monday, I opted to sit in the back of the school's church, as I wasn't responsible for any students on this occasion and never felt comfortable demanding that my 6th and 7th graders pay attention to Scripture that I couldn't decipher myself.
Sister Margarita politely allowed me to sit in the rear but feared I'd be setting a bad example for the children. The children were unaware that I was even inside the church and I chalked Sister's words up to knee-jerk Catholic guilt.
The following was written in my journal on 29 September 2003. 9:15 a.m. from the back of St. Katharine's Church:
I'm planning on mapping out the next 40 minutes of church services. Here goes Catholic Mass:
Stand up. Sit down. Little guilt. Cross yourself. Stand up. Sing a song. Sit down. Praise this. Little guilt. Stand up. Sing two more songs. Sit down. Line up. Drink this. Cross yourself. Eat this. Cross yourself. Bow. Sit down. Stand up. Sing some more. Listen while standing. Shake hands. Sit down. Last bit of guilt.
The following was written in my journal on 29 September 2003. 9:15 a.m. from the back of St. Katharine's Church:
I'm planning on mapping out the next 40 minutes of church services. Here goes Catholic Mass:
Stand up. Sit down. Little guilt. Cross yourself. Stand up. Sing a song. Sit down. Praise this. Little guilt. Stand up. Sing two more songs. Sit down. Line up. Drink this. Cross yourself. Eat this. Cross yourself. Bow. Sit down. Stand up. Sing some more. Listen while standing. Shake hands. Sit down. Last bit of guilt.
Stand up.
Leave.
Church gives people a structured period of time to step back from the normal distractions of everyday living and focus on their beliefs. For some it's a necessary part of the week. I cannot be considered a part of the population that feels this way. Because when I sit in a church I find myself distracted by the artistic propaganda on the walls, the range of outfits the patrons of my church (and other churches) are wearing,** and the crying babies.
Church gives people a structured period of time to step back from the normal distractions of everyday living and focus on their beliefs. For some it's a necessary part of the week. I cannot be considered a part of the population that feels this way. Because when I sit in a church I find myself distracted by the artistic propaganda on the walls, the range of outfits the patrons of my church (and other churches) are wearing,** and the crying babies.
Also, when babies cry and struggle and fuss for an hour straight, I think the rest of us should listen. Think about all those movies and books where the child always tries to warn everyone of danger, but because they are children, the townsfolk just shrug it off and ignore them. Then pure evil comes and eradicates the town and all that is left are the innocent and wise babies.
Babies always cry in church. Why would God allow babies to constantly cry in church and disrupt such holy proceedings? God is totally trying to send us messages via baby tears. We're less than a week from Christmas, a day centered around the baby of all babies - and yet we're ignoring our own.
I bet when baby Jesus cried, someone listened.
There is supposed to be peace, harmony and safety inside the walls of a church but, I feel quite the opposite of safety, as if what I'm doing isn't wrong so much as it isn't right. Most of the time, while in someone else's church, I feel nervous, as if I may be smited at any moment. I just don't know the rules. I was in a Catholic church recently and sat down in a pew without crossing myself or kneeling. When I realized I didn't do it, I kinda half-stood up and slid back into the aisle. I hesitantly bent over like an elderly gentleman who just dropped a quarter, started bending to pick it up, then decided it wasn't worth it.
There is supposed to be peace, harmony and safety inside the walls of a church but, I feel quite the opposite of safety, as if what I'm doing isn't wrong so much as it isn't right. Most of the time, while in someone else's church, I feel nervous, as if I may be smited at any moment. I just don't know the rules. I was in a Catholic church recently and sat down in a pew without crossing myself or kneeling. When I realized I didn't do it, I kinda half-stood up and slid back into the aisle. I hesitantly bent over like an elderly gentleman who just dropped a quarter, started bending to pick it up, then decided it wasn't worth it.
I forgot which shoulder to touch after I motioned to my forehead while crossing myself, then dejectedly sat down and prayed (really!) that no one saw my dumb ass attempt to fit in. I sat there for the next five minutes imagining God turning to his "Adam's Heaven or Hell Ledger" to tally mark one more in the Hell column.
I also don't know any of the words to any of the songs. I wasn't as worried about this as the kneeling and crossing thing, but it was still disconcerting to hear 15 songs and not know the words to any of them. The last time that happened I was at a Tori Amos concert. And believe me, I was equally uncomfortable and just as sure I was taking several steps closer to Hell by being there too.
And in church, sometimes they have their patrons sing while sitting down. You're not supposed to sing while sitting! It squishes the diaphragm and causes everyone to sing from the throat - which is the absolute worst thing to do to your voice. Hasn't anyone thought about this? Think of all the squished diaphragms, people. Don't sit and sing. This ain't a folk concert.
I also don't know any of the words to any of the songs. I wasn't as worried about this as the kneeling and crossing thing, but it was still disconcerting to hear 15 songs and not know the words to any of them. The last time that happened I was at a Tori Amos concert. And believe me, I was equally uncomfortable and just as sure I was taking several steps closer to Hell by being there too.
And in church, sometimes they have their patrons sing while sitting down. You're not supposed to sing while sitting! It squishes the diaphragm and causes everyone to sing from the throat - which is the absolute worst thing to do to your voice. Hasn't anyone thought about this? Think of all the squished diaphragms, people. Don't sit and sing. This ain't a folk concert.
Let thine voice reach unto the heavens.
Then there's the old saying that describes events as being harder than not laughing in church. Like, "Passing that test was harder to do than not laughing in church." Sayings don't become sayings unless a lot of people sympathize with them. So if a lot of people find it difficult not to laugh in church - what is really being accomplished there that is so important I can't stay home? I don't laugh at home all the time.
Then there's the old saying that describes events as being harder than not laughing in church. Like, "Passing that test was harder to do than not laughing in church." Sayings don't become sayings unless a lot of people sympathize with them. So if a lot of people find it difficult not to laugh in church - what is really being accomplished there that is so important I can't stay home? I don't laugh at home all the time.
And also, I read somewhere that almost 20 percent of married people met at or through their church. That's amazing. That doesn't even take into account the amount of failed relationships or time people spent sneaking peeks at other hot young churchgoers.
Essentially, church is nothing more than a den of lust.
So okay, we've established that my mom and I are going to hell. But I want it stated for the record that I'm not knocking spirituality or religion or anyone's belief in Allah, Kristna, Vitnu, Gozer the Gozerian, Jehovah, God or all those wacky idols freaking out the masses.
So okay, we've established that my mom and I are going to hell. But I want it stated for the record that I'm not knocking spirituality or religion or anyone's belief in Allah, Kristna, Vitnu, Gozer the Gozerian, Jehovah, God or all those wacky idols freaking out the masses.
I say, pray on my friends.
But church is a total drag to go to and potentially bad for one's health. The kneeling cushions are not nearly as padded as God would have wanted. I'm 6'3" and it's harder than Hell to get up and down off of those things.
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* I say "first day of Charles' Baptist church" because I went several times until my parents found out that I was being taken to someone else's church without their permission. I'm not sure if my folks were upset that I was going to church processions seperate from our own, or if they were guilty that I was getting my religious infusion from someone other then them. Either way, once my parents found out about Baptist Church, I stopped going to it.
** I once saw a man in a purple suit sitting next to a woman wearing a halter top and cutoff shorts and I do believe I would have given everything from my left elbow downward to read what was going on in both of their minds sitting there at that moment.
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* I say "first day of Charles' Baptist church" because I went several times until my parents found out that I was being taken to someone else's church without their permission. I'm not sure if my folks were upset that I was going to church processions seperate from our own, or if they were guilty that I was getting my religious infusion from someone other then them. Either way, once my parents found out about Baptist Church, I stopped going to it.
** I once saw a man in a purple suit sitting next to a woman wearing a halter top and cutoff shorts and I do believe I would have given everything from my left elbow downward to read what was going on in both of their minds sitting there at that moment.
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