Wedding prep 101: Church, the
Missus Sour is what is known as a non-practicing Catholic. I’m a practicing Atheist. In fact I practice every day. I’m getting quite good at it. But my baby wants to get married in a catholic church and as Vince Vaughan appropriated from me in the film The Break Up, what my baby wants my baby gets.
I had some reservations about a church wedding. How would my beliefs be represented? Will tasting holy water give me cramps? Turns out Father Wagner isn’t a bad guy after all. Very nice. I might even go so far as to say he seems genuinely full of the love of the lord. He also wears black Reebok runners under his robe and I often envision him dribbling down the aisle of the church, deeking out the alter boys and slam dunking the crucifix. Now that would make me reconsider my atheism.
When Missus Sour and I first met with Father Wagner, I must admit to being very nervous. Would he see me for the hopeless, un-dunked in holy water sinner I am? He asked me whether I had been baptized or not. I said I had not, though I felt the urge to tell him my father had been, as an Anglican. I told him my religious education had been self taught. But as long as Missus Sour lacked the bar-code of Satan I had across my forehead it was OK.
Missus Sour and I do feel like we’re conning the guy, if just a little. So every so often we make an appearance at Sunday Mass. Though when 10:30 Sunday morning rolls around I always ask myself if this is really worth it. Mass seems to consist of a lot of praying. Sometimes you pray standing up. Then you sit down and do it some more. Then you kneel and do it again. Then you think you’re going back to the sitting but you have to stand. How they work this out I have no idea but it kills my wonky soccer knees.
As I sit there and listen to a lot of stuff I don’t believe in I indulge in my own little acts of disobedience. Some may find them childish or just repetitive but it gets me through the hour. I use the kneeling board as a foot rest. At one point in the mass the parishioners all turn to one another and wish each other peace and shake hands. I give people the thumbs up and say “Hey, how’s it goin’?” When Missus Sour goes up to receive communion I tell her I’m feeling peckish and could she be a dear and bring me back a wafer. I need to think up some new material.
All in all, my original fears of being a passerby at my own wedding are fading. I disagree vehemently with the Catholic Church on many issues: Homosexuality, abortion, allowing Priests to marry etc., this particular Church has never been a place of judgment or scorn. I actually found myself nodding in agreement to one of the sermons a few weeks back as Father Wagner talked of his unease of some churched adopting modern marketing techniques and language to attract attendees. Words like “synergies” and “target markets” seem incongruous to the world of faith. While I can’t partake in that cannibalistic tradition of the communion, I can see the idea behind it and limited my mocking of it to once or twice a week. I can see the symbolism and the importance of symbolism to the lives of these church goers. So I’m growing less resistant to it everyday. Kinda like exposing yourself to chickenpox so you can develop you immunity to it. I just wish they’d let you bring in coffee.
I had some reservations about a church wedding. How would my beliefs be represented? Will tasting holy water give me cramps? Turns out Father Wagner isn’t a bad guy after all. Very nice. I might even go so far as to say he seems genuinely full of the love of the lord. He also wears black Reebok runners under his robe and I often envision him dribbling down the aisle of the church, deeking out the alter boys and slam dunking the crucifix. Now that would make me reconsider my atheism.
When Missus Sour and I first met with Father Wagner, I must admit to being very nervous. Would he see me for the hopeless, un-dunked in holy water sinner I am? He asked me whether I had been baptized or not. I said I had not, though I felt the urge to tell him my father had been, as an Anglican. I told him my religious education had been self taught. But as long as Missus Sour lacked the bar-code of Satan I had across my forehead it was OK.
Missus Sour and I do feel like we’re conning the guy, if just a little. So every so often we make an appearance at Sunday Mass. Though when 10:30 Sunday morning rolls around I always ask myself if this is really worth it. Mass seems to consist of a lot of praying. Sometimes you pray standing up. Then you sit down and do it some more. Then you kneel and do it again. Then you think you’re going back to the sitting but you have to stand. How they work this out I have no idea but it kills my wonky soccer knees.
As I sit there and listen to a lot of stuff I don’t believe in I indulge in my own little acts of disobedience. Some may find them childish or just repetitive but it gets me through the hour. I use the kneeling board as a foot rest. At one point in the mass the parishioners all turn to one another and wish each other peace and shake hands. I give people the thumbs up and say “Hey, how’s it goin’?” When Missus Sour goes up to receive communion I tell her I’m feeling peckish and could she be a dear and bring me back a wafer. I need to think up some new material.
All in all, my original fears of being a passerby at my own wedding are fading. I disagree vehemently with the Catholic Church on many issues: Homosexuality, abortion, allowing Priests to marry etc., this particular Church has never been a place of judgment or scorn. I actually found myself nodding in agreement to one of the sermons a few weeks back as Father Wagner talked of his unease of some churched adopting modern marketing techniques and language to attract attendees. Words like “synergies” and “target markets” seem incongruous to the world of faith. While I can’t partake in that cannibalistic tradition of the communion, I can see the idea behind it and limited my mocking of it to once or twice a week. I can see the symbolism and the importance of symbolism to the lives of these church goers. So I’m growing less resistant to it everyday. Kinda like exposing yourself to chickenpox so you can develop you immunity to it. I just wish they’d let you bring in coffee.
posted by Soft Headed Liberal at 7:09 PM
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