I grew up going to Catholic school. That meant Mass every Friday, every Holy Day of Obligation, and every Sunday.
In high school, it thinned out to almost every Sunday.
In college, I went one or two Sundays when I was home for winter break.
Despite my unimpressive track record, being a practicing Catholic is important to me. I decided that 2012 would be my year to be an adult, find a Church, and go regularly.
St. I’m Not Really Going to Tell You the Name of my Church seems like a good fit for Cory and I. It’s not far from our place, and last week the 9:30 mass, which is also the “family mass” was one that I enjoyed.
Well, apparently FAMILIES were still on vaycay last week, because I was taken aback at yesterday’s mass. The place was hoppin’ with babies, toddlers, and kids who aren’t old enough to wipe their own nose, but still old enough to run around like wild banshees.
I was fiercely praying to JC and trying my damnedest to stay focused during the homily, but it was a lost cause.
I had Suzie Q on my left trying to stack as many hymnal books as possible while her brother Johnny Nosy was fishing through his mother’s purse pretending to talk to God on her cell phone.
On my right I had a Ginger Baby trying to trapeze his way across the pews while his sister Blond Ginger was swinging her necklace around like she was at a holy rodeo.
In front of me, I had girls in velvet dresses braiding hair and flapping their The Holy Rosary books in each other’s faces.
I was suppressing laughter, shock, and judgmental looks for an hour. It was mass, for Christ’s sake! I’m not supposed to do those things when I’m paying a visit to God’s house.
Needless to say, when Cory and I walked out of church, we couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of the situation.
The Catholic church had just provided us with a whopping dose of free birth control.