The King of All Myths

It’s high time that some stories are put away for the good of humankind.

When I was young and becoming aware of myself, probably around the age of Six, my parents would take my brothers and I to church. I really didn’t care for it. Mostly, I didn’t understand it. Here I was among all these people, mostly seniors it seemed, and my mind would wonder endlessly. To be honest, I was bored shitless. All the ritual of standing, kneeling, sitting in cyclic repetitiveness and all I wanted to do was leave. The people around me didn’t seem happy to be there either. But I guess God was looking down on them, ticking off their names on his list of good people for when they would stand before him and be judged.

God: Well Andrew, you have an excellent attendance record. Welcome to Heaven.

Andrew: Thank you my Lord.

God: Michael, Mmmm… not so good. I think you need time in purgatory to think about your attendance.

Michael: Oh for fucks sake!

God: Huh??

Michael: Nothing my Lord, I’m just disappointed having been an usher for so long collecting money for your church.

God: Michael, I won’t send you to purgatory after all for collecting my much needed money. Instead I will send you to Limbo.

Michael: Oh fuck me!

God: Hell it is then.

Michael: AAAAHHhhhhh….. (as he falls through the trap door beneath his feet and falls to eternity burning in Hell.

God: Next!

Crazy isn’t it?

Ritual Needs To Keep Up With The Times

One of my most excruciating experiences in my church was having to attend the stations of the cross every Easter season. It was such a long and arduous tradition. I so wanted to scream out, “C’mon already!! Get to the next station!! I have a bike to ride and a playground to get to!!” But I knew I would be seen to in a most unkind way, so I left it for what it was. I had street smarts and just kept it to myself.

The only thing I can think of that I liked about church was when the broke out the incense. Frankincense, the smell of the Gods! The priest would have it in this cylinder hanging from a chain and would swing it around while walking up and down the aisle. The sound of the chain hitting the cylinder repetitively was like a Mantra. Chink. Chink. Chink. The smoke rising from its orifices.

The whole constant kneeling and standing thing was a pain in the ass. So much so that the adults would lean their asses back onto the pews (seats), just enough take their weight off their knees. There should be a name for that, Kneesting? I was told not to do it. I had to kneel straight up and suffer, like Jesus did for me on the cross. Even though he died for my sins, I still had to suffer. Where’s the logic in that?

That Voyeurism Thing

I was once told that God is Watching Everything I Do! Every Day!! It wasn’t until later, while sitting on the toilet, that this hit home. It wasn’t as bad as when I had my first, and last, wet dream. Talk about the guilt, sheeesh. For the love of everything that is holy, I was dreaming!!

The Big Lie

None of it made sense to me. It seemed like a waste of my time. My Dad started taking my brothers and I to church on Saturday evenings. I think it because he wanted to watch football on Sunday. I don’t know if that is true, but I think the odds are in my favor.

My Mom and Dad once sat me down to ask if I still believed in Santa Claus. I must have been eight or nine at the time. Just the way they questioned it I felt something was up. Hesitantly I replied that I still believe, but my reply didn’t feel right. Afterwards, I stopped believing. Now then, what if they had instead, asked me if I still believe God? It almost seemed if they were interchangeable.

To Each Their Own, But Beware..

Of course I don’t step in a church anymore, unless it’s for a wedding or funeral. Don’t take me as a heathen, I actually love the architecture of chapels and cathedrals. The artwork of stained glass can be quite astounding. I’ve noticed when I come across the mega church service broadcast on TV that there is nothing aesthetically appealing about them, as if they only want you to focus on the pastor. You would think with all the money they have to build those church’s they might dress it up a bit?

In ending, if there is a god — why doesn’t she/he/it show itself? Why all the mystery. Also, why are there so many interpretations of the same god? Hell, even the apostles couldn’t get their stories right. Or other religions for that matter. Question everything folks, and if you feel that you might be shunned by your peers, then all the better reason to leave.