Hopefully this will be the first of many.
So my parents have taken to a different tactic to get me to go to church. Either I go to church or I have to spend every Sunday explaining to them why I don't believe god exists. It's not is so many words, but that's essentially what's going on.
I don't mind it so much, I usually think about tits for an hour or something like that but the inevitable always happens and some bullshit falling out of the priest's mouth manages to flick into my ears. See as I can't exactly purge my memory of it, I may as well lay it out here where you can find as much amusement in it as I do.
(I know it's Aug 12, but I didn't think about doing this until just now; hopefully this will be more punctual as time goes on.)
I didn't write down the exact gospel, I'll be sure to do that in future so you can follow along if you so choose.
This weeks' gospel was some shit about some guy starving to death and Jesus saying, "here, drink this magical water and bread and you'll be a-ok." And then the poor fuck eats it and is magically all better. One thing's for certain, if some analog of that story actually happened, the guy's dead anyway.
So, in his homily the priest tells the story of the unfortunate cunt who became Bishop of Saigon weeks before the fall of Vietnam and how he was imprisoned for it, how that poor fuck was stuck in solitary confinement that almost drove the bishop mad (in the way we humans would react to total isolation), how he saved scraps of bread for weeks and weeks and coaxed soldiers for a drop of alcohol every day so he could say mass and worship a god who had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned him if he existed at all; how this bishop distributed the scraps of bread in place of the much more decadent Jesus wafers and how he prayed and prayed for god to save him -- and just like that, thirteen years later he was freed with everyone else.
At the end of it all, the main point was that the Eucharist, if it meant anything, meant hope. It symbolized hope. For the dying man in the desert it was hope that Jesus or god or whatever was watching over him -- watching over him as he slowly died because he was alone in a fucking desert. How it meant hope for a priest and his fellow prisoners who begged and pleaded with the divine for some alleviation for their suffering. Praying to a power that could have prevented their plight, ended it mercifully with the sweet embrace of death, but instead chose to sit on its hands for thirteen years and just watched with ejaculatory glee as his play things begged for mercy and praised him for ending it.
So I, like the rest of the church, went up and took this most sacred and hope symbolizing Jesus cracker and popped it in my mouth, chewed it up like I would anything, and picked it out of my teeth where it got stuck.
At the end of it all I just had to stop and think, 'That's just like god, getting in all the places I neither need nor want him.'
After that I waited for the magical residue to come out the other side of me to see if would at least float on water if not walk across it, it didn't. I was severely disappointed.