A Short Sermon from the Pews
Pushing open those carved wooden doors of all promise I wander once more into what is now defined as a ‘church’. But is it the Church? The one with that elusive capitalization I just used, because that one keeps eluding me and I end up, once again, here. Little posters everywhere. Stacks of coffee cups and plates, ready to go! A smell of old, damp varnish, overly-washed plastic trays, teabags, air freshener, old lady perfume, mothballs, subtle urine, thick dust, and an ever so slight underlying whiff of baked goods. A few gammon thumb-heads facing forward. A few grey mops. A single shaky old boy blowing his nose.
— Morning!
— Morning.
— Morning.
— Morning. With a nod.
— Keepin’ well?
— Yeah, you?
— Oh, you know how it is-
— Morning!
Fuck me! Yes, it is morning. … — Morning.
— Nice morning.
— Indeed.
— Is though, ain’t it?
— It’s a good one.
— Good one indeed. Morning.
— Morning.
Anyway, I’d best take my seat for ‘it’ is about to get started and I should be paying attention. I should be getting into the zone.
— Morning.
— Morning.
Before Mass, I should talk to God and after Mass, I should talk to others.
— Morning.
— Morning.
I probably won’t, though. As per usual I’ll give a few nods and swiftly walk out. I don’t want to talk to these people. The chair is tough and digs into my back. The kneelers are rarely used (I use them). I lean back and my trousers crumple up and my jacket flops all over the place and there’s just so much material what in the world. Does anyone wax their shoes anymore? I sit back and take a little breath. Tilting my head right back and side-to-side, rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. Settling in, settling in. Usually get a few moments before to get in it. I look around.
To my right is a man praying so violently I wonder if he’s going to prolapse his intestines. (What would we do if this happened?) He is two aisles over and I can literally see the veins popping out of his forehead. I guess he must really want what he’s praying for – all my best to him! What if he passed out? What if the inside of his head is just a big vein? Anyway, back to it, back to it. I kneel down quietly hoping other people notice that I have done so. Really there are only two options prior to the Priest entering: Sit down on a chair (pathetic, wretched, and sinful), or kneel down (pious, holy, and right). I peek out from behind my prayerful pushed-together palms and notice a woman shoot me a quick glance. She is sitting and I am kneeling. Try as hard as I might, I can’t help but slightly roll my eyes at her and return to God. Alas! I have allowed my hands to collapse into crossed fingers as opposed to flat palms! If only there were some Trad here to reprimand me, and yet I must admit it feels a little more natural. I wonder what the most efficient prayer stance is. Sometimes I feel like flat palms together are far too pious even, almost like one is firing a prayer to God. I imagine myself mimicking loading a prayer into an invisible M1 Garand and blasting it into the heavens! Yeah! Semper Fi!
Some people at the front are talking. A little chit-chat. Something about a new lawnmower one of them just bought. I desire to run over and tell them the only thing they should be worrying about is the New Jerusalem! And that if they aren’t quiet they’ll be mowing the lawns in hell! Are there lawns in hell? My knees are starting to hurt…that’s right Lord, I’m suffering for you right now, I hope you’re noticing. Oh! What’s this? The man who just sat down in front of me immediately pulled out his phone. Looks like it could be the readings for today, oh, nope, he’s now checking his texts. He’s not just sitting down either, he’s relaxing back into his chair. A little roll of boomer back fat is sitting on the top of the chair – Oh yeah, that’s right, scratch your head. What if I leaned over and gripped onto his back-fat-roll like a rollercoaster and shouted “You must be this fat to ride this chair!” He is bald and I wish to slam-dunk his head with a thick handful of spray cream. I am also bald and if someone did that to me I would be annoyed.
I take a deep breath in to still myself. Surely it can’t be much longer now? But that is how people know you are settled, that you are getting that grace, the deep, slightly-audible breath of internal peace. That’s right Ma’am, if you didn’t know I was in a state of grace when I walked in, you sure do now. I confessed just yesterday (wish I could tell them this). Sometimes when I’m in the confessional I feel like dropping an absolute blinder just to see what would happen. — Yes Father, pride, lustful thoughts, and gluttony…oh, and on Tuesday I drove my car into a roving pack of old farts. Four deaths and 18 casualties. Might need a bit more than an Our Father, ‘eh…Father? I’ve never done this, I’m usually too caught up with the fact I’ve yet to memorize the Prayer of Absolution and that my knees hurt. Sure, I’m fine to kneel, but I ain’t no Saint so get me some paddin’! Anyway, clean slate once more. The man in front is still looking at his phone. Scrolling through social media it looks like. Look at those fat, greasy fingerprints smearing down his screen. And of course, he’ll be handling the Eucharist. Despicable. Think I just heard the Priest’s car roll up just in time (I’ve been kneeling for like five minutes). I subtly check my watch. 9:04. I take it back, he isn’t just in time, but apparently God can wait…again.
My breath is getting flustered. But it’s not my fault because I can hear a few people jostling back and forward trying to get everything started. “Well perhaps if you’d placed more emphasis on God and less on your breakfast then we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Yes, that’s what I’d say. That is what I’d say if I wasn’t just so damn pious. Sometimes I feel like standing up and throwing my chair through the stained glass window just to see what would happen. To be honest, I assume if I did that then the chair would go through the window. Another fantasy ruined by reality. That man’s phone is more grease than screen, what in the world does he eat, deep-fried lard and spam? On my way here today I heard the sound of music at random and considered it a call to God. But I soon noticed an open window and the reflection of Coronation Street on the glass. Who watches soaps at this time in the morning?
Ah, yes, finally! I caught a little glimpse of the priest semi-jogging past the side window as to get around to the front for the procession. Thank God…literally. Ding ding ding. I am quickest to stand as per usual. Oh, but how that man loves to ring that bell as if each jolt from his hand is an indulgence of a thousand years! The priest is beginning his walk and once more I have made sure I am a few seats off to the right. See, try as hard as I might to keep everything sincere, I can’t help feeling that if I was close enough as he walked by I would simply tackle him to the floor, possibly even suplex him onto the donation table! What then though? Walk out? Sit back down? So I make sure I sit a little bit away.
Okay, he’s up there now, on the…raised bit, behind the altar. — Good morning everyone! Lovely as usual to see you all here again, and welcome to any visitors. In the name of the Father (I cross myself) and of the Son (I cross myself again because it didn’t feel right), and of the Holy Spirit (once more because it just didn’t feel right) Amen. (I cross myself once more and make my own ‘Amen’ very apparent.) — The Lord be with you.
— And with your spirit. But He sure as hell ain’t with that guy and his greasy-ass phone. Okay, Penitential Act. — I confess to almighty God and to- There’s cake crumbs on the floor. Big ones. Look at the size of them. Big, fuck-off chunks of cake. I think that one still has cream on it. You could combine them all and construct a multi-generational sponge! Oh, they’re already striking their breasts. Forget it, I’ll just bow my head. A woman behind me, to the left, she’s whispering different prayers. Stick to the script! I take a deep breath. And another…oh, and another and another…I’m hyperventilating. I’m getting hot. My knuckles are even red and warm. I’m wiping my forehead with my hand. Little beads of visible sweat. Flustered flustered. When I breathe in I am shaking a little. Just have to focus and breathe. It’s getting faster. I can feel my own heart inside my own chest slamming away. My legs are hollow. I’m gonna flop to the ground. Why is the air so cold? What if I do miss that car payment? Why are there so many fucking cake crumbs? A woman two seats over tugs at my jacket. I look up and notice I’m the only one standing, we’re at the Word. — Sir, is everything okay? I quickly sit, but then I stand back up and then sit back down and then back up again.
— The Word of the Lord.
Why I am still standing up? Why I am about to speak? Why is my throat spasming?
— Father! How about this for a few words? I am shouting. — I cannot see Christ due to all these fucking cake crumbs! How do you expect me to get to Christ with all this baked detritus in the way? I cannot get to Christ for the fact of bloody cakey crumbs! Look at them! They’re fucking everywhere! They are huge! The floor is more cake than carpet!
It’s the man in front of me, he’s turning around. — Young man, I think you’d best get some air.
— Some air? Some air! How about you get hydrated lest you can no longer see your texts during Mass due to the viscosity of your hand-grease!
— Sorry, everyone I think-
— Oh, Father, do not fear for I have already planned my exit, but perhaps next time you should prepare your entrance a little more? Five minutes late…again! Forgive me if I am incorrect, but is it not the same fucking time every fucking Sunday?! And as for you Ma’am, I see you eyeing up the coffee cups in eager anticipation of refreshment! I see you Sir pretending to drop a note into the basket! I see none of you at Confession! I see you bemoan your neighbors and criticize and whine and covet and act jealously and build needless wealth and talk about utter worldly shit! What in the world is this? A club? A meeting? A group? Why are we even here?
— Young man!
— A dirty old atheist Frenchman once said that if he believed what we Christians supposedly do about the coming judgment and salvation and sin and damnation then he would crawl on his bare knees across crushed glass warning men to repent! And what do I see here? A loose gathering of fair-weather snoozers who wouldn’t even walk the five minutes to church if it was raining! It’s a good thing this building isn’t too long, otherwise, I doubt most of you would even bother walking up to collect the Eucharist!
— Young man! You need to leave!
I stand up violently. My chair rocks back awkwardly and comes back to hit me in the ass. I walk back towards the front doors but quickly detour upwards, to the first-floor choir section. Big, beautiful stain-glassed window. I line up a chair and turn back to address the crowd below. — Young man! Don’t you dare!
— Father! Forgive me, for I have sinned! My sin is smashing the absolute shit out of a stained glass window with my own head! And with that I run backward and leap head-first through the window, shattering it. The building is small. The first floor is only 12 or so feet up. I land in a pile of glass, blood, saliva, and urine (I really needed to go) outside the front doors. I quickly get up. Wet trousers, drooly mouth, a headache, and my ankle is sprained. I am slumping off through the bushes. A woman quickly runs out — Young man, are you ok? Come back in and we’ll get you a cup of tea!
~
Tap tap tap. I jolt awake. I am seated in my car and someone is tapping at my window. — Young man. Are you coming in? Mass is about to start. I look at the clock. It’s 9:15 am. I drive home.