Although I eschew formal religion, there are times when I am obliged to attend church. I listen to the sermon with great interest, although it is invariably an elaborate version or corollary of the Erin Commandment (Don't Be an Asshole), which serves as both a comfort and affirmation for me (I was right and the God Guy says so).
And although it is always a part of the proceedings, when the God Guy announces that he will be doling out portions of JC's body and sips of his blood in order to absolve everyone's sins, two surprising thoughts bloom:
But that image is quickly erased by the next exciting notion:
2. Man-o-man! It's my lucky day! All I have to do is eat a JC cracker and drink some grape juice blood and all the bad shit I did is cleared out!
Then of course, the God Guy explains that unless I'm a member of the church (I never am) or have been Confirmed (nope) or chinned some other God bar that I do not understand, I can't receive the Holy Communion.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I deflate back into the pew and hope that my Karma that was so close to being swept clean isn't all that dirty to begin with.
That I do not have to enter a church in order to experience church became evident during our trip home from Disney.
We passed the following sign and my hopes rose much like they do at the prospect of the anti-sin Christ cracker. Why ... JC loves me! That means he'll think I'm okay no matter what. He might clean out my sticky Karma as a housewarming gift of sorts. I'll tell him about how I proselytized the Erin Commandment over the Internet and bag a few more points. Christ awmighty, I thought, this is some good news!
A moment later, however, the facade came crumbling down. There is always a catch.
I wonder if Jesus drinks Stroh's beer.