Tart Tangerine #11
I am a bad person. I have no one else to tell, so I’m telling you. I do something that people just shouldn’t do. When I’m in church, and the people around me are praying, I’m thinking about the TV shows I want to watch that week. Now, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not that big a deal, plenty of people’s minds wander when it’s time for silent prayer. But there’s a difference. I’m not just any person. I’m the pastor. I’m the Shepard of the flock, and while my sheep are asking for God’s help and forgiveness, I wonder which team will be last to reach the goal in the Amazing Race.
Why am I, a man of God, more focused on secular pursuits than on the spiritual? Because I just don’t give a damn anymore. Not since that bastard took my Gloria. Oh I know all the platitudes, believe me. I’ve uttered them often enough to grieving loved ones. “She’s in a better place.” “It’s all part of God’s plan.” “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Bullshit. There’s nothing mysterious about cancer except why some people get it and others don’t. And I don’t believe there’s any rhyme or reason, or anything resembling a plan to it. After all, I’m supposed to be God’s go-to guy – his rep here on Earth. The guiding light for others who have strayed. And instead, my faith has been destroyed. How am I supposed to keep others on the path when I’ve lost all sight of it myself? Some days I can barely bring myself to look up at the Cross. Now I understand why the Catholics don’t let their priests marry. Because nothing shakes your faith like losing a spouse.
I’m jealous of the others. I’ve seen some whose faith has been renewed. They pray all the more urgently that they’ll be rejoined in Heaven. And others, like me, who give up and drift away from the Church. But I can’t leave. I have to be here every Sunday, singing the praises of a God who I don’t even believe in anymore. And the worst part is, I have no one to talk it over with. No one with whom to discuss. No Shepard of my own to lead me back to the path. And so I’ve resorted to this. Sending a postcard to a website one of my parishioners once showed me. God help me.
Speaking of my flock, I sometimes also look out at them as they pray silently, thinking about the various problems they endure. I feel less sympathetic now than I used to. Everything is so different after losing your soulmate. Like the Wilson twins. Debbie and Donna. God I’ve always hated parents who do that to their children. But that’s another story. Poor Debbie. She feels she’s always in Donna’s shadow. Donna was the homecoming queen, Donna got good grades, why can’t you be more like Donna? It’s almost like something out of the Brady Bunch. But what Debbie doesn’t know is that Donna urgently wishes to be her. She hates the pressure that she’s under – to be perfect, to get good grades, to go to college. All she wants in life is to run away and goof off for a while, maybe see Europe.
But her parents would have none of that. Not for Donna. Donna has to go to college, then law school. She’s going to meet a nice young man and become the First Lady someday. She already dates the high school quarterback. But he mistreats her. But Donna can’t tell anyone. Just me. And I’m forbidden from talking as well. So Donna comes by for a weekly cry and all the time Debbie is jealous of the life she wishes she had. If only she knew.
Then, there’s Alex. He’s a young man, about 15, and like all young men at that age, he believes he’s in love. Her name is Zoe and she is an exchange student from France. She speaks English well enough, but prefers to speak in her native French because it makes her feel more at home. Alex doesn’t speak a word of French that he hasn’t heard on television, but he pretends to understand every word she says. I’m sure she knows by now that he’s clueless about what she says, but she is a kind girl and allows him to think he’s getting away with it.
Not that I necessarily blame him. I did similar things when I was courting Gloria. She was in the choir and wanted to be a great opera soprano. So I pretended to like opera. Some of it isn’t half bad, but really, I don’t speak Italian so most of it is lost on me. But it gave me something to talk to Gloria about, so I read up on Carmen and Pagliacci and would discourse extensively on the various benefits and detriments of Placido Domingo’s rendition versus Pavarotti’s. She must have thought me a fool. But she still married me. And God did I love her. I can see the same love in Alex’s eyes every time he looks at Zoe.
Sadly, summer is almost here and then she’ll have to return to France. Perhaps that’ll save him the heartache of having to sit next to her hospital bed some dark day in the future, when some doctor explains apologetically that there’s just no hope. But now, I have to wrap this up. I see from the clock it’s almost time to head out and welcome the flock to this week’s services. I wonder what’ll happen on CSI tomorrow night….
Why am I, a man of God, more focused on secular pursuits than on the spiritual? Because I just don’t give a damn anymore. Not since that bastard took my Gloria. Oh I know all the platitudes, believe me. I’ve uttered them often enough to grieving loved ones. “She’s in a better place.” “It’s all part of God’s plan.” “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” Bullshit. There’s nothing mysterious about cancer except why some people get it and others don’t. And I don’t believe there’s any rhyme or reason, or anything resembling a plan to it. After all, I’m supposed to be God’s go-to guy – his rep here on Earth. The guiding light for others who have strayed. And instead, my faith has been destroyed. How am I supposed to keep others on the path when I’ve lost all sight of it myself? Some days I can barely bring myself to look up at the Cross. Now I understand why the Catholics don’t let their priests marry. Because nothing shakes your faith like losing a spouse.
I’m jealous of the others. I’ve seen some whose faith has been renewed. They pray all the more urgently that they’ll be rejoined in Heaven. And others, like me, who give up and drift away from the Church. But I can’t leave. I have to be here every Sunday, singing the praises of a God who I don’t even believe in anymore. And the worst part is, I have no one to talk it over with. No one with whom to discuss. No Shepard of my own to lead me back to the path. And so I’ve resorted to this. Sending a postcard to a website one of my parishioners once showed me. God help me.
Speaking of my flock, I sometimes also look out at them as they pray silently, thinking about the various problems they endure. I feel less sympathetic now than I used to. Everything is so different after losing your soulmate. Like the Wilson twins. Debbie and Donna. God I’ve always hated parents who do that to their children. But that’s another story. Poor Debbie. She feels she’s always in Donna’s shadow. Donna was the homecoming queen, Donna got good grades, why can’t you be more like Donna? It’s almost like something out of the Brady Bunch. But what Debbie doesn’t know is that Donna urgently wishes to be her. She hates the pressure that she’s under – to be perfect, to get good grades, to go to college. All she wants in life is to run away and goof off for a while, maybe see Europe.
But her parents would have none of that. Not for Donna. Donna has to go to college, then law school. She’s going to meet a nice young man and become the First Lady someday. She already dates the high school quarterback. But he mistreats her. But Donna can’t tell anyone. Just me. And I’m forbidden from talking as well. So Donna comes by for a weekly cry and all the time Debbie is jealous of the life she wishes she had. If only she knew.
Then, there’s Alex. He’s a young man, about 15, and like all young men at that age, he believes he’s in love. Her name is Zoe and she is an exchange student from France. She speaks English well enough, but prefers to speak in her native French because it makes her feel more at home. Alex doesn’t speak a word of French that he hasn’t heard on television, but he pretends to understand every word she says. I’m sure she knows by now that he’s clueless about what she says, but she is a kind girl and allows him to think he’s getting away with it.
Not that I necessarily blame him. I did similar things when I was courting Gloria. She was in the choir and wanted to be a great opera soprano. So I pretended to like opera. Some of it isn’t half bad, but really, I don’t speak Italian so most of it is lost on me. But it gave me something to talk to Gloria about, so I read up on Carmen and Pagliacci and would discourse extensively on the various benefits and detriments of Placido Domingo’s rendition versus Pavarotti’s. She must have thought me a fool. But she still married me. And God did I love her. I can see the same love in Alex’s eyes every time he looks at Zoe.
Sadly, summer is almost here and then she’ll have to return to France. Perhaps that’ll save him the heartache of having to sit next to her hospital bed some dark day in the future, when some doctor explains apologetically that there’s just no hope. But now, I have to wrap this up. I see from the clock it’s almost time to head out and welcome the flock to this week’s services. I wonder what’ll happen on CSI tomorrow night….
posted by Anonymous at 7:53 AM
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