Sunday, April 08, 2007

Turning Your Orbit Around

It’s Easter Sunday and once again I attended mass. On the way back my roommate Zack asked me a very good question: why do you go to church? As you might have realized, I do have my reservations with Catholicism (look at the post below for one teeny tiny example), but yet the last two years I have not only gone to church on Easter, but sort of looked forward to it. Clearly I'm not there to praise the lord for his holy elevator journey. I think it's my way of paying tribute to my parents, specifically my Dad. We don't see each other a lot, but there is a connection that he's going to pretty much the same service that I am, be it 225 miles due south.

As per usual, I have some critiques and a list of grievances about the proceedings that I'll bother you with.

-I saw some girl bring coffee in to church. Ok, what is that about. You don't bring coffee in to church, let alone on Easter Sunday. Who would ever think that's alright? They can serve you coffee in the rec hall downstairs that is used for bingo night, that's all well and fine, but don't bring your Starbucks in to wash down your sacrament with. Thanks.
-Why must everything be sung? I understand the pomp and circumstance, but some of these things are a stretch and a half to try and make lyrical. We can just say things; look at the Our Father! The only people who can sing cause they do it properly are Southern Baptists. All I could think of is how great that part is in Blues Brothers and how lilywhite and crappy it is at Marsh Chapel in Boston.
-There were people dressed up in suits, some had jeans and a t-shirt, and one girl had cowboy boots while wearing a dress. I just...I just don't know.
-When did we start clapping in church? No one should clap. We should do like it always was: stew in silence and stare in appreciation.
-The amount of hot chicks at church for Easter is astounding. It was better last year when we attended the six o'clock, when everyone was sobered up from the previous night and went "eh, yeah, I guess I'll go." One of these attractive lasses sat directly next to me when most of the pews were empty.

One cannot hit on a girl in church. Do I lean in and go "man, what a great homily, huh?” or "she really pronounces 'Nazareth' well, doesn't she?" At one point I tried to look down her dress (she was 5'5" - it's hard not to from up here) before realizing that I was doing that, on Easter Sunday, in church. While it was one of the lesser sexual crimes perpetrated in a church, I still felt wrong. I did not judge her when she neglected put in any money for collection, but I was willing to look past that.

Unfortunately, it was all over during the Our Father. Apparently, it's a well-known custom to hold hands with the people next to you during the prayer, eventually raising your hands up together afterwards. This is something I did not grow up with, and only way I caught wind of it was when I used to go to mass with my cousins on my Dad's side. The Our Father is gearing up and she grabs her friend's hand, then hesitantly goes for mine. I don't move, cause I don't deal with that noise. Suddenly, Zack grabs my right hand and in that instant I became a giant asshole. I totally blew it. What can I do now, try and grab her hand at the "...as it is in Heaven" part? She gave me a look, and I felt small. She did the "peace be with you" handshake and was courteous, but my opportunity was blown. Thy Will be done indeed.