The Holy Goat

My readers may know by now my stance on religion. My personal stance. That stance is it's old fashioned, silly, and the stylized rituals are best left for man's primitive past.

My stance was affirmed yet again this weekend.

You see, I went to a catholic mass.

It was my friends daughters first communion. He's almost as atheist as I, but his wife and his wifes best friend ensure that the children are fully and properly indoctrinated. As such, both are catholic, not that they know - or care what that means.

I entered the church with quiet reservation. It was just plain weird. People were milling about, admiring the dead people and weird looking statues of some lady hanging on the walls. I had anticipated the church air burning my heathen lungs, and the holy water burning my heathen fingers. That didn't happen, but I texted my friend that it was horribly painful anyways. And we laughed!

So, I learned a few things. Firstly, I learned that catholics are cannibals. The first communion is where you eat the body of Christ. I would have thought he'd be kind of gamy and rotted by now, and his remains would have long since been picked over by the millions of catholics eating him over the last 2000 years. I was wrong.

Secondly, I learned all about the fodder, the sun, and the holy goat.

I may have gotten that wrong. The priest was Italian and had a thick accent. But that's what I heard. The fodder, the sun, and the holy goat.

The holy goat is what scared me the most. The priest started talking about opening yourself, and letting the holy goat fill you up. Letting a holy goat fill me up. Yet another reason for my atheism. That particular orifice is exit only, besides which, I'm not into animals that way of ANY gender. Gross!

The priest went on forever and ever. Well, it was just over an hour, but it seemed like just over a year. He was a very confused man, asking us to stand, sit, stand, sit, kneel, stand, sit, kneel, stand, sit, and then finally stand. I guess having a severe case of ADD is a prerequisite to being a priest?

As the mass went on (and on, and on) one thing became abundantly clear to me. There is a very fine line between a religion and a cult. I made the realization that religion is a cult, with the difference of a propensity for killing others, not themselves. Although at one point in the service I half expected them to bring out some killer kool aid. The priest would say something, and the ENTIRE congragation would say something else, completely in unison, and in a subdued monotone. The whole congregation was trained like Pavlov's dog. Except the bell wasn't a bell, it was some old guy wearing robes and a silly hat.

About halfway through my buddy tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed to his watch. Yes, I was feeling the same thing. I said to him, in what I thought was a hushed tone, "Why can't they just throw these kids some Jesus chunks so we can go home?" It was then that one of the ladies in the pew in front of us turned around and gave me the look of death.

When I say turned around, her body stayed pointing towards the front, but her head swiveled a full 180 a la the exorcist to bestow upon me the evil eye of catholicism. Fortunately, she stopped short of blowing green goo onto my freshly purchased polo shirt, and her head swiveled back to face front, completing the mind boggling 360.

It was then I realized I had perhaps made my last, fatal mistake. I should have known better. I should have known that deeply religious people aren't particularly rational, and do things like fly airplanes into buildings and blow up offices full of live people to protest death. I was in a room full of people who could probably easily be riled up into doing a little atheist bashing.

I looked around the room for exits. I was right in the middle of the deal. There were catholics everywhere. I prepped my bum for a fart, because I heard if you fart in church you'd sit in your own pew. That would at least buy me some space and some much needed time.

Fortunately, the frenzied beating that would have been my death never came, even though I made a few additional insensitive and ill timed comments. The priest finished the service, and only slapped the alter boy on the bum once. My little niece (she calls me Uncle Mike because I've known her since she was in her daddies balls) looked darling in her frilly white dress and coiffed hair set with a shiny tiara. She finally got to eat her Jesus chunk, and we finally got to leave that horrible, boring place.

What followed was a lovely party at my friends home, complete with a Christ cake.

I guess catholics like eating their lord and savior wherever they can. It sure beats being violated by a worshiped goat, I guess.

In the end, it was well worth the hour of torture. After mass, when my little niece realized I was there, ran up to me and gave me a big hug. After I let her go, she reached up for another. The decision was made right then and there, that I would easily brave the hour of boring, religious terror for her, and her brother, any time and forever.

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