Real Fans

Today’s church was randomly selected because it was the only one in the paper that started at 10:30 that wasn’t named “St Someone-or-other”. I’d had a fairly late night the night before, and wasn’t in the mood to be liturged at. Now that I mention it, the paper is getting a bit thin on choice. Only nine denominations advertised this week. Looks like I might actually have to put in a bit more effort after I’ve exhausted these options. Sux to be me.

The name of the church I’d selected was a bit odd. I mentioned to K where I was going, and he said it sounded like one of those cults where the one sixty-something year old man fathers all the children. Instantly remembered that guy who was on 60 Minutes around 1989, with a face only a mother could love, who looked like he’d eaten all the children rather than fathered them. Whatever happened to that guy? Anyway, I was determined to go today with all the glass-half-fullness I could muster. Of course, it would be a bit too much to expect for the glass to be completely full. Aim low folks, and you won’t be disappointed.

• Turned up in time to see two fluoro orange vested guys with ‘SECURITY’ menacingly printed on the back, herding the last car of about six into the car park. They seemed to take this task very seriously. Didn’t want to complicate things for them, as it seemed the car park could only take six cars, so I parked on the street.
• Sat in my usual spot nearest the exit. In case of a fire, of course. I’m very safety conscious, you know.
• The one-man-Casio-keyboard-band made me smile, for his sheer enthusiasm if nothing else. The kids (who made up roughly 60% of the small congregation) were up the front having a great time dancing along without a care in the world. Someone (presumably these same kids) had decorated the church by fastening tinsel to the walls with large strips of masking tape, and nobody had bothered to take it down yet. Very festive in a slapdash kind of way.
• Inevitably, the dreaded words were uttered: “Go up to someone you haven’t spoken to yet this morning, and tell them, ‘I love you because Jesus lives in me!’” At first, the handful of adults there stuck to who they knew, clapping their mates on the shoulder and robotically repeating the instructed greeting. Then an old lady snuck up on me from behind. “I love you because Jesus lives in me!” she exclaimed, giving my right breast a reassuring squeeze, then ambling off in search of further prey. In her defence, it does tend to reside right next to my arm, which I’m pretty sure is where she was actually aiming for. Felt rather violated nonetheless.
• No sooner had I collected myself again, I was lobbed on by Elderly Man and Linen Leisure Suit Lady. Seems they both decided in the same split second that I looked like I needed some lovin’. Almost breaking into a run, they came at me with arms outstretched from opposite directions – there was no place to run. “I love you because Jesus lives in me!” they both hollered in unison, mussing up my hair and groping me from every available angle. “Err… fabulous” was my incredulous reply, albeit muffled by one of their armpits. Felt highly amused yet incredibly traumatised all at once. Smelled like an op shop for quite some time after that.
• The sermon. Boy, where do I start? We were informed right from the get-go by the sermon giver that he would be drawing a parallel between sports and Jesus, and that the sermon was entitled, “Are you a real fan of Jesus?” Then, he proceeded to shout belittling accusations at everyone for the next half an hour. It seems to be the trend these days to have a number of titled ‘points’ in your sermon, and this one was no different. Great – a guilt trip with structure. Real fans get there early. Real fans don’t care what time they get home. They’ll turn up even in a blizzard, they sit right up the front, and they never miss a game, no matter what. Real fans memorise statistics (bible verses), they pay the cost no matter how high, and they are always vocal. I cannot begin to describe how utterly disgusted I was by all of this. Not so much by the content itself (even though it had no biblical basis whatsoever), but by the accusing manner in which it was delivered. He seemed to be doing his level best to make every single person in the congregation feel like the worst Christian in the world. His strategy in achieving this was fairly simple - 1. State point: "Real fans pay the price". 2. Use his own shiny, spotless life as an example: "My wife and I give hundreds, nay, thousands, to all sorts of charities. We gave X to this person, Y to this person, Z to such and such. And that was only last week! Aren't we wonderful?" 3. Point out that everyone else sitting there was falling way short of his example: "How much did YOU give last week? Bet it wasn't half as much as that!" It really was a total and utter pile of crap. By the time he had reached his final point (“if you’re one of those quiet types that doesn’t call out during sermons, then you’re not a true fan of Jesus”), I walked out. Literally shaking with anger, and absolutely appalled.

Well, I’ve heard some total and utter shite in my time, but this was ridiculous. The only consolation was that the kids were out at Sunday School, so they didn’t have to sit through it. I felt sorry for the rest of them, though. Nobody else looked as outraged as I felt. They looked as though they were used to it. Which is awful.

How long can this sort of thing go on? What has the church become?

I’m not sure I can take much more.

Groundhog Day

Here we go again. Didn’t I just write a recap of 2007 like a week ago? What the hell happened? And what have I done? Another year over? A new one just begun? Imagine there’s no heaven? It’s easy if you try? Just excuse me while I start my own one-man John Lennon tribute band.

2008 wasn’t a bad year. It wasn’t a good year. It was just a year. I was mainly happy, albeit a bit bored and restless. Some stuff happened. Here is some stuff that happened:

• Started a new job in January. Liked it. Got used to it. Became indifferent to it.
• Half committed to a church. Started playing piano. Stopped playing piano. Fully uncommitted to it.
• Formed an a cappella group. Got some gigs. Did some busking. Got thoroughly out-busked by a giant brass band about ten metres away. Realised how intrinsically stingy the people of Launceston are.
• Went back to uni. Gave English a try. Hated it. Changed back to history. Loved it.
• Upgraded our car to a Subaru Outback. Felt like a yuppie.
• Went to Sydney to visit a friend. Had a miniature personality crisis. Felt small. Got a tattoo. Felt tough. Went to Hillsong. Felt amused.
• Had relatives visit. Went quietly insane after the 30th cup of tea and 43rd conversation about Tasmanian weather.
• Planted a veggie garden. Felt like Peter Cundall when some stuff actually grew.
• Participated in the wedding of a good friend as her matron of honour. Loved it. Felt old.
• Sang in Carols by Candlelight. Wore a shiny silver top that I will never, ever wear again.

I also made two New Year’s resolutions.

Ask if I could do some work experience in a different department at work
I made this resolution on New Year’s Eve. I knew once I’d made the resolution, I’d have to act on it immediately otherwise I’d chicken out. So I rang the boss straight away. She said that would be fine, and that I could start whenever I liked! I’d fulfilled my resolution, and it wasn’t even 2009 yet. So I thought I’d better make another one:

Lose five kilograms
Yes, I know. Lose weight. Very original of me. Even though I knew that the swim-ring I’d been cultivating over the last few years was happy fat, it was fat nonetheless. I figured it would be easier to lose a few kilos than to buy a new wardrobe. So I joined a website called Calorie King. It’s totally fabulous, and it’s working already.

New Years Eve itself was spent on our deck with beer and friends. M brought along some small squares of lead, telling us that a German friend of hers told her of a tradition where you heat up a bit of lead until it melts, then throw it into cold water, and the shape it forms is supposed to predict the year that lies ahead. This is the shape I got:

I think it’s a dragon. This year I’m going to fly the sky at night, setting people and property alight with my fiery breath, before taking refuge in my treasure-filled lair.

Then some annoying prat called Beowulf is gonna come and stick a sword through my heart.

Beats a quiet night in, I suppose.