We, like many people I think, have a love hate relationship with church. We have good intentions. We try to do the right thing–the right thing being to attend on a regular basis. Sometimes we succeed. Sometimes we don’t. We’ll be going along participating on a regular basis, and then something will come up, say a boyscout trip where everybody is gone, and we sort of fall off the wagon. Suddenly, a few weeks will go by, and we realize how long it’s actually been. This summer has been very hard on attendance, especially in the month of July.
But it’s not only being gone that has the experience suffering. Sometimes things happen at church, and you leave the building wondering what the lesson was. In some ways, it reminds me of getting the giggles at funerals, but that is probably best left for another post. Getting back to the church example, one time there was an extremely vocal and zealous 2 year old sitting a few rows behind us. Every time the priest would pause in his homily, during a prayer or the benediction, well, pretty much throughout the whole service, she would let out a very zealous, “Yes!” as though she couldn’t agree more with whatever he was saying. Every exclamation sent Roo and I further into a fit of giggles. DH glared at us. I barely made it through the service.
A few weeks ago we were in church, and when I stood up the sandals I was wearing decided to be vocal, in the form of sounding exactly like a fart. As luck would have it, Roo was next to me. He gave me a reproachful look. I could feel everyone around me staring at me. I was most definitely not going to take that bullet, so I leaned over and whispered that it was my shoe grandly gesturing so that anyone who cared to watch would get the pantomime. He didn’t believe me, so I did it again on purpose this time while pointing to my shoe, again with exaggerated effect hoping everybody around me would see and realize what had happened.
Roo began to shake silently with laughter, trying to force the grin from his face. The other two leaned forward to gawk at me, their faces clearly communicating that they couldn’t believe I would do such a thing in church. People around us were staring.
Every time I stood up, those silly flip flops would make a farting noise like a whoopy cushion. After church, the other two boys expressed their dismay in the parking lot.
“I can’t believe you farted in church!”
“It was my shoe!” I protested, as DH laughed at me.
Roo could barely squeak a a word in my defense, he was laughing so hard.
The morel of the homily that day? I didn’t hear it, but it should have been, Thou shalt not judge on appearances, as they can be deceiving.