One Angry Dwarf and 200 Hail Marys for Jews

I am very glad I am Jewish. Even if I am not officially or by blood relation. The Jews are sensible- their service takes place in the evening. Albeit you have to be that kid who celebrates the Sabbath on a Friday instead of gaming with your buddies but at least you don't have a Messiah. Those meshugganah kids who have a Messiah have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn on the day of rest to go worship their vicarious god. Sure sounds damn practical.

Places of worship used to make me uncomfortable. I was so obnoxiously agnostic to where I had a vision of God but did not agree with every Christian who wanted my body present as a follower. I thought Jesus was a man with some really great ideas but found the whole heaven-sent thing to be horseshit. Hence me determining myself Jewish- I agree with the concept of there being a God, no messiah just yet, and that the ten commandments should be followed. But the unsettling feeling of people trying to convert me repelled me from ever setting foot in a place of worship and brought forth another aspect of the Jews I love- they don't go out and arbitrarily try to add followers to a quota. You have to want to convert on your own accord.

Now I have never experienced full frontal Catholicism first hand (same for Judaism, if you want to know the truth of it, but I'm working on a remedy for that), so I chose for my ritual project for Karen's performance studies class that I would attend Mass. I went with Shannon and her kids, the family I babysit for and complain about endlessly, and had an unforgettable experience.

I was very surprised to feel welcome in this Church. The building itself seemed open its doors and say, "Feel free to explore but don't break anything." My goal was to reproduce my experience on paper and in performance while being as descriptive and unbiased as possible. I sat in the back, took notes on note cards, looked around and followed other peoples' actions. Generally being as conspicuous as possible and sticking out like a weed in a rosebush.

I knew I wasn't supposed to take communion and the lady who was distributing the wafers was cordial to me after I briefly informed her I was not Catholic. With a smile she said, "Oh, let me give you a blessing" and then she pulled my ear close to her face and whispered, "In the body of Christ, may Jesus Christ keep you on this day." Now, I may not believe in that, but I always thought that if someone else does and they are not pushy about it, then what hurt can a prayer or a blessing do? It's a good thing in their beliefs and generally, all religions teach you to be a good person so it's not like it's specifically telling you something bad.

Once out of there, I helped Shannon wrangle her children together. I was on my way to get a free cup of coffee when this woman Deedee stopped me. She told me she was a friend of Shannon's and with this holier-than-thou tone of voice, she reprimanded me by saying, "You know it's really not cool to let kids crawl all over the seats like that."

Okay. I had to take charge of Brody because the Sunday school program did a last minute cancellation. Actually getting Shannon's children to listen to anyone is like nailing jello to a tree and actually enforcing discipline upon someone else's children is not my place. I did the best I could to coax him off the bench but then figured if he wasn't bothering anyone directly, it shouldn't be a problem. If anything, God would forgive me. Plus, it's not like I lived almost 20 years of my life without the common knowledge of keeping dirty shoes off clean furniture. I have a mother, y'know.

I gave her a half-assed apology and then she asks me how I know Shannon. I tell her she lives down the street from me and I watch her children. She asks me if I am Catholic and I decide not to lie. Immediately, sirens go off in her head and once again I feel ostracized and banished. I mean I have brown hair and brown eyes- deduce what potential religions I could be affiliated with. And then her eyes widen and she suppresses a small gasp when she asks me "You didn't take communion, did you?" and all her worry is released with an "Oh good" when I tell her no.

What would happen, however, if a non-Catholic took communion? I will never know.

So apart from the pretentious encounter at the end of the service, it was rather interesting. The priest was from Ireland and made his sermon entertaining with some dryly delivered quips. The songs were dreary but Catholic guilt differs from that of the Jews on a plain of understanding I fathom not. I may return next Sunday for refreshers but I fear the 5 feet, 150 pounds of Deedee telling me how to raise other peoples' children again.