I'll Take Sweating Like a Whore in Church for $1000, Alex"

Man, I posted this like forever ago. I'll say June of 2005...

Jess

I thought I would share with you the tale of me going to my new Catholic church last night, but since I didn't do what Jesus does (save), I lost the whole article. This is my attempted re-enactment of last night's story.

I was really nervous about going to this particular church for the first time, so I got all Sunday'ed up and decided to go half an hour early. The sermon began at 9:30, so 9 am would be more than early enough to get a good seat and figure out what was going on.

However, I was completely mistaken. The sermon began at 9 am, and I ended up being a couple minutes late. Everyone was standing, and the priest was talking, and suddenly, I was in the throes of a panic attack.

The ushers were very nice, whispering to me that there were plenty of seats UP THERE (there being a 30 foot walk along loud tile floors with my heels going CLACK CLACK CLACK), or I could sit here in the RESERVED FOR THE HANDICAPPED seats. After a mouthed thank you, I considered the delicate state of my stomach, and realized that if I had to run and throw up, it would be better to be closer to the bathroom. So I slunk guiltily into the last pew on the left side, with the elderly and infirm.

My panic attack in full force, I was literally sweating as I took my spot. I was sick to my stomach, positive that I was going to black out or something, just from fear alone. I don't know why I was so terrified, but was I ever.
I didn't know what page the reading was from, and couldn't see my neighbor's page number. I was shaking so badly that I could barely stand, couldn't focus on what was going on, did the "mush-mouth" off key to the hymn I couldn't find in the book...and was generally being spastic. I was literally shaking, near paralyzed with fear. But this was where I wanted to be.

I finally was able to read the neighbor's page number, calmed down....took a deep breath....and was all right.
The sermon was lovely, about a vintner planting grapes and, come harvest time, found them to be bitter. So the vintner had no choice but to pull up all the vines and start from scratch. I think you would be aware that this was a personally powerful statement about the state of my life, pulling up old habits and sowing a new life. I was even able to follow along through the "stand up sit down pray pray pray" segment of the service.

Then came communion. [Cue scary music]

I wasn't planning to take communion, I didn't at any of the other churches I had been to, but it seemed to be so oppressively suggested in the air that I was incapable of escaping the pull.

"I don't know any of the moves!!", I thought. But then I calmed down. "It'll be all right, I'll just follow the neighbor girl up, and I can check out what she does, and copy her! BRILLIANT!"

Unfortunately, the neighbor girl didn't know my plan, and hopped into the "express lane" on the right side of the church. Damn. The woman in front of me was holding a child, and just opened her mouth for the communion wafer. DAMN. So I did my best approximation of what everyone without an open mouth was doing, and went up with the stink of fear coating me.

Did you know they talk to you up there??!!? The priest said something, and, trying hard not to pee my pants, I just mush-mouthed something, looking desperately at the host, and at my hands and back. My mind was screaming, "JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN CRACKER!" And God must have been listening, because the priest finally gave me the thing. The body of Christ tastes surprisingly bland. Somehow, I guess I was expecting bacon.

Then came the wine. I used to always wonder why so many Catholics went to the bar right after church, but upon smelling the sacramental wine, I understood that beer was really the only way to get that taste out of your mouth. I bet they have it in an unlined tin 55 gallon drum in the back room. The smell would make a wino wince in disgust.

They do it the old fashioned way in this church: the communal cup. I feel a cold sore coming on already. When the woman holding the chalice spoke to me, I was a little less disoriented, and managed an "Amen", but she was on to me. A twinkle in her eye as she handed me the rotgut gave me away, but I felt worlds better. Thank you, Booze Hag!

The taste of the "blood of Christ" wasn't what I was expecting, much more fruity and complex, closer to a Zinfandel, in all actuality. Of course, it must have been about 150 proof, but still, it wasn't even red. I reeled back to my seat, suddenly much calmer and more at ease. Thank goodness you end up kneeling right afterwards.

The rest of the sermon was uneventful, I was drugged....I mean calmed down for the rest of it.

At the end of the sermon, the priest stood by the door and said goodbye to everyone, like a reception line. But I had had enough, so I played ninja parishioner and stealthily slipped out the door, into the air, to freedom.

But I'll be back next week.