O! Jesus, Where Art Thou?

I don’t know if you’d call me a religious woman; I’m probably more what you’d describe as, “spiritual.”

So, there’s many a Sunday when I can be found in the throes of worship, praising my great love for a higher authority; St. Mattress.

But on the days when I haul my ass out of bed with every intention of getting a little Jesus in me, my kids don’t seem nearly as enthused.

“Mooooom! I don’t wanna go! It’s….. boring!”

Be that as it may, my sweet loves, we’re going.

Then there are the hearty debates over what constitutes proper church attire.

“But, I’m wearing khaki shorts with my Pokemon shirt! And Jesus wore sandals, so it’s ok!”

“I love my Sheriff Callie dress! People can see around my pink hat.”

O! Jesus, Where Art Thou? | Ponies and Martinis

I died on the cross for these idiots? I’m throwing myself off the edge of this building.

I am not a fashionista, unless you count the avant-garde ensembles I whip up with Target’s Merona line, and I don’t expect my kids to be either. What I do expect is a modicum of respect for our activities.

When they are finally wrestled into mostly decent attire, we get in the car and the bargaining begins.

“If we have to go, do we have to stay long? Can we leave after we have the cookies?”

Just so you know, the “cookies” are communion wafers. Maybe we can dunk them in the wine while we’re at it, for a fully blasphemous experience.

Jesus must love me because if He didn’t, I’d surely be struck with a bolt of lightning when I entered church.

At church, getting settled is a chore in and of itself. I always look for a pew that’s mostly empty, and preferably occupied by other kids. I figure I’ll get fewer dirty looks that way. The people who are serious about their Jesusing get a little judgy when your kid crawls into your lap instead of kneeling.

You can imagine what kinds of looks I get when my little princess rolls around in a pew with her favorite fuzzy blanket.

O! The Christian irony.

Before long it becomes crystal clear that the Sundays I have decided to “worship” at home have negatively impacted the kids’ religious education.

“HEY! Who’s the guy in the green robes? And what is he holding?”

That “guy” would be the priest, and he’s holding a chalice. Kinda fundamental to know.

Then, long before the cookies and when it’s acceptable to leave, hunger overtakes my children. It doesn’t matter if they had a big breakfast, two snacks, and a goat sacrifice before we left the house. Somehow, church makes them ravenous, turns off their voice modulator, and forces them to proclaim ad alto voce, “WHEN DO WE GET CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES?!?!”

Maybe we can have a little nosh after we learn about suffering and deprivation. I am feeling pretty deprived of sanity, composure, and politesse at this point. And who knows? The time we spend together over brunch may end up being more educational than the time spent in church.

Advertisements

8 Comments

Filed under Partying with the Ponies

8 responses to “O! Jesus, Where Art Thou?

  1. I love it – thanks.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Omigod, you’re effing funny! A goat sacrifice? Why have I not read this blog before!!

    And I would definitely label you a fashionista. With that outfit you wore to the closing party? I’m still thinking about those shoes…
    xoxo

    Like

  3. Ha! Exactly! Damn those kids and every judgie-McJudger. It’s hard to get your God on under duress. Glad I’m not alone in my Sunday “home” worship. I’ve had my parish since 1990. Hee hee!

    Like

  4. Brings back visions of when my mom decided to make us all go to Catholic church suddenly when I was 14 (I had previously been raised Unitarian, but my dad had been raised Catholic and she was having a mid-life crisis or something). I had NO idea what was going on. Or why I couldn’t go up and get the cracker with everyone else (of course, I hadn’t been baptized).

    I raised my kids in the agnostic church of sleep in Sundays.

    Like

  5. I also worship at the IHOP.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s