Wednesday, February 25, 2009

My Cross to Bear

Today, as most "Good" Catholics may know, is Ash Wednesday.
Bear with me, dear reader, as I reveal yet another startling mysuestories fact:

I am Catholic. I have been baptized, communized (?) , and confirmed all in the catholic church. I have never once been married in a church, which in hindsight, is probably just as well, seeing as how I would have had to acquire all those annulments! Apparently the teachings of God and I go our separate ways on the whole "Till death do you part" thing. (Although in a couple of cases, the death of my partner may have been a whole lot easier, and a helluva lot cheaper!)

Anyway, back to the Holy Grail that is mysuestories.

My children have been chrismated (no, constant reader, they did not mate with Christ or Chris or anyone else in a church for that matter - at least not to my knowledge!)...Although I did once date a guy who thought he was a god. (Turned out he was dyslexic, and was most assuredly a dog).
And I have been known on occasion to refer to my Mountain Man as a God, and Jesus, and sometimes just plain old asshole. (The first two names are usually uttered after he has rocked my world by making the bed or cooking dinner- the last is uttered in pure annoyance which delights him to no end. Really, it does.)

Ah, yes...the chrismation of small children. For the duration of marriage number two and the conception of said children, we attended what we affectionately called the Cult of the Resurrection. It was Byzantine by design, and while they had a few quirks (they gave out willows on Palm Sunday and led a 3 day candlelight vigil around the clock right before Easter!),
it was one of the few churches where the priest told jokes during the sermons and took your football bets in the dining hall during coffee and cake after.

Oh, and did I mention there was a fully stocked bar off the coffee room? Yep. Father Dan could pack the house for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Every husband in town made sure his family was there on time. Where else could you get snookered and blessed before heading home to drunkenly wrap the kids presents?
So what if a few of the tags got mixed up. I remember one particular Christmas morning when a certain 6 year old got size 34 men's boxers and exclaimed "Santa knows I'm ready for the big time now!"....Um, no. My bad. Daddy really doesn't want to wear under roos.

Again, I digress. Okay...Chrismation was our cult's way of baptising and confirming a kid at the same time! Can I get a Hallelujah?
I guess it cut down on dragging reluctant teens to religion classes. It also saved the time of convincing the child to affirm his place in the church as an adult since he apparently already made this decision when he was baptized at the cult age of consent- infancy.

Oh, well. The world turns. Father Dan was all but put to the curb by higher ups who didn't take kindly to a pastor whose congregation actually enjoyed him and his sermons, and our church days faltered.

So tonight at the dinner table I mentioned it was Ash Wednesday. To which my 12 year old hysterically laughed at the thought of naming a day after a buttock.

"No, you little heathen," I lovingly corrected. "It's Ash, as in cigarette. It is not Ass Wednesday."

This was then followed up with an intellectual conversation led by the Mountain Man about Ash Wednesday. (Tell me you don't see an oxymoron in that line!)

"George Burns was God," says the object of my affection.
"George burned God? With the cigarette ashes?" Out of the mouth of babes destined for the down elevator come Judgement Day.
"No, George Burns was God. In a movie. But he died." I tried to explain.
"God died? From the burns?" speaks the child who will definitely not lead Them.
"No, Jesus died for our sins. But then he arose on the third day." Off the movie route, back to the church. Good segue, mysuestories.
"Oh. So Jesus is a zombie."

Maybe it's time to start looking for a new church.
Any one know of a good church with a decent bar out back?
Heck, how about a lousy church with a good bar?
No? Damn.
OK, how about one that serves a really good wine with communion? If I bring a few hats, I could probably get back on line a few times before the priest catches on....

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