The Antichristian Phenomenon

I know this is a bit after the fact, but for various reasons I was not on the internet much over the holidays, mostly because my grandmother does not have internet, and that’s where I was.

By going to my Grandmother’s house over the Christmas Holiday, I was obligated to attend Mass on Christmas Eve.  She is deeply religious and my mother will do anything to ensure that I do not break her illusion of god-fearing grandchildren.  I have reason to believe she fears that my irreligous state will reflect poorly on her parenting, but that is the topic of another article.

Returning to church was somewhat of a landmark for me, as I used to attend mass very regularly throughout my childhood and through High School, but since escaping off to University, it had been a full year since I last set foot inside a church of any kind.  I did not even attend Easter Mass last year, as I did not go home for Spring Break and as a result there was no obligation.  However there was not much of an option in this circumstance.  I decided to mentally take note of how a full year of separation and a rapidly declining faith changes the impression of Mass, and create a little write-up for the ACP.  Oh yes, and this is a Roman Catholic Mass, by the way.

First, the preparation.  I do remember Christmas Eve mass used to be a very big deal when I was a young child.  My mom would take us out shopping to purchase a new outfit for the occasion (the same happened for Easter Mass), as generally I had outgrown my past year’s dress, and in years I hadn’t… what a travesty to wear the same dress two years in a row!  Also we generally attended Mass at the church in my hometown so this was my first experience with Christmas Eve mass at any church other than that one.  Getting ready for Christmas Eve Mass in the past also generally included curling hair and dolling up a bit, because God cares that you dress up for this specific Mass.  No really, he does.  You have to be a step above normal Mass because this is a Holiday, he’ll probably send you to hell if you attend in jeans without your hair styled.  At least, that was the impression that I got from my parents and the other members of my congregation…

Fortunately, my mom has been a bit lax in what I have been allowed to wear over the past few years, but since it was my Grandmother’s church, she was a bit more strict, but at least I could wear dress pants.  I sincerely hope that none of the readers here can sympathize with this sort of foolishness.  Perhaps in the future I will write an article about church “Dress Codes”…  Regardless, I was able to get away with my Thor’s Hammer necklace (I don’t think my mom understands what it means, or why I wear it anyway), a thin scarf with skulls and crossbones all over it, and simply run a brush through my hair.  That’s right, no hair spray OR curling irons.  So far, this whole church thing is not quite as bad as I remember.  I stuff Richard Dawkins’ “River Out of Eden” in my coat pocket and wait forever for everyone else to get ready.  There was a special on the History Channel about giant man-eating Anacondas to watch while I waited, which was pretty awesome.  I’m probably going to Youtube it later, it was that cool (here it is!).  Apparently Florida is having this problem with Burmese Pythons that escaped during the hurricanes and… oh yeah, church.

We helped my grandparents into our van, and drove off into the cold.  (Un?)Fortunately due to my grandfather’s current state of health we were able to use their handicapped tag and parked right next to the doors and a life-size, very ugly Nativity set.  Some things don’t change between churches and the horrific Nativity displays are one of them.  I swear they use the cheapest plaster and paint, and hire the worst sculptors and painters to create these absurdities, and then proceed to light them rather unflatteringly, to make them look even WORSE than they already are.  We helped my grandparents into the church, and as a young man (who would be the lector) opened the door for us I was nearly bowled over with an overwhelming stench, that brought back decades of anxiety and anger.  Incense.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the smell of some incenses.  If my room mates happen to be smoking cigarettes downstairs, I light up a bit of the sweet perfume in the center of my floor to drown it out and relax.  However, the Catholic Church must have some business deal with a company out there to be the exclusive provider of their full line of shoddy, cheap aromas.  A while back, the Church I attended in my hometown purchased different incense, that smelled sweet and pleasant, but since then, they have been purchasing the same disgusting scent my Grandmother’s church used that night.  I closed my eyes to let the brief nausea pass and followed my family to a pew that was in the second row from the front, in front of a smaller Nativity set, equally as hideous.  I refused to genuflect and marched to my seat near the end.  Already I was feeling a little bit uncomfortable, but I had some time to kill as we arrived about 45 minutes early to get a seat so I calmed my nerves by reading about the “utility factor” of male to female births and whether a son or daughter would be advantageous in various animal species in terms of passing down DNA and ensuring descendants.  Fascinating.  Not Church related at all either.

The building began filling up rather quickly and about 20 minutes before Mass started, a choir began to sing various Christmas carols.  I relearned exactly why I disliked organ music… Overall the music quality was sadly lacking.  At this point, my dad leaned over and pointed out that there was a random girl in the nativity scene, the first either of us had seen that was not the Virgin Mary.  She was carrying a pitcher of water, and wearing a red apron, which seemed to have the breasts emphasized with a white highlight.  Good job on being politically correct.  There was also some random half-naked Amish guy, I don’t know what he was supposed to be… a shepherd maybe?  With the cheesy nativity scene, christmas lights, trees, choir, and happy organist, I could only think of one word to describe the atmosphere, and no pun intended of course: gaudy.  And the priest hadn’t even entered the scene yet!!

I missed the Procession as my nose was still buried in Dawkins, but when I finished the page I discovered that I was standing up and the priest was giving the greeting.  The time that passed between the introduction and the first reading are jsut a blur, a testament to how good I got at tuning out the mass in the years before.  Then the lector had to go and piss me off.

He was a young, attractive man, no more than three years my senior or one year my junior.  Isaiah 9:2-7 was the reading, though I imagine it might have been edited slightly, as I have found that in-Church readings always seem to say exactly what the preachers want them to… out of their biblical context.  His voice was firm, but slight wavers betrayed his nervousness.  About the time he reached the boots of warriors and cloaks rolled in blood, his voice picked up a malicious sneer, and his eyes flashed with arrogance and blind zealotry until the last line; “The ZEAL of the Lord of hosts WILL accomplish this.” OH?  When exactly?  Last I checked, our world was still war-torn and stricken with everything BUT peace.  Oh yeah, I almost forgot, he meant after the second coming and heaven and stuff, which is apparently sometime soon, and has been “sometime soon” for the past 2000 or so odd years.  And everyone forgets why these sorts of verses were really written in the first place.  Here’s a hint, it has something to do with Jews and captivity… not Jesus.

After another really bad musical interlude, the lector stood back up on the podium, a bit more confident this time, and a lot more arrogant.  The second reading was from the Letters somewhere (of course), but my ability to tune out nonsense prevailed and all I can remember is an overwhelming desire to punch the lector in his smug face… or at least stand up and scream “BULL SHIT!” but my grandmother was there and I mustn’t make her look bad.

Then the Gospel, yay… Of course, it was some version of the Christmas story, shepherds in the fields and angels singing, and all that nonsense.  I’ve always wanted them to recount the two stories right next to each other to see if anyone notices the discrepancies…  But regardless, it was homily time.  I worked hard to pay attention, as usually this would be the time I’d imagine dragons crashing through the stained glass windows with the mission of carrying me off to fantasyland, and paying attention was really really hard.  The homily was an anecdote about the Children’s mass a few hours earlier, where he asked Children questions about Christmas and Church.  I think it was supposed to be touching and funny?  The priest made sure to lay on a bit of guilt, tell everyone they need to be reborn for the next year, try to sin less, and think about others in the holiday season.  I was pretty sure I’d heard the homily before actually, and it reminded me of the recent ACP aricle on the same topic.  He also told a mind-numbingly stupid stock story about a girl who bought a hair comb for her grandmother to illustrate some point about giving and selflessness, and finally it was over.

Which meant we moved to the second half of mass: Liturgy of the Eucharist.  Originally I had intended on not taking Eucharist, but the fact that we went to my grandmother’s church changed that plan, and I walked through the motions as I had for many years.  The beginning of the second liturgy is an excessively long series of prayers and rituals (all of which I have memorized) mostly carried out by the priest as the congregation kneels.  I refused to kneel, and instead sat forward in my seat.  I will do a number of things to maintain an image, but I will never kneel at the altar of a dead god.  The very act of kneeling is at its heart degrading.  Instead my mind wandered, storming in discust and rage at what I had witnessed thus far around as the familiar words bounced around my skull.  Nothing new.  My resentment and anger built as the rituals carried on, and I felt thoroughly gross after shaking everyone around me’s grimy, dirty hand.

When everything was prepared, and the crackers and juice properly Jesus-ified, we filed around to recieve our divine snack.   I actually have always enjoyed the taste of the crackers they dish out, symbolic caniballism aside, so this was not the most painful part of the mass, and instead of kneeling to pray afterwards I returned to Out of Eden to read about the mating habits of salmon.  The word “SEX” was printed no less than 10 times across the page, referring to both gender and the act of mating, so I hope the nice happy family behind me was approprately disturbed as they leaned half across my seat in prayer.  “OMG SEX IN CHRUCH! BLAFSMEMEY!”

Unfortunately my brother copy-catted me and pulled his book out too, so my dad quickly chastized us for our inappropriate behavior and I was left with nothing to do but listen to more Christmas carols and stare at the random nativity-scene milkmaid’s prominent breasts and wonder why the craftsmen felt the need to make them so… obvious…  Eventually the priest allowed everyone to sit again and began the closing procedure (This mass has ended, go in peace!  “THANKS be to God!”).  It seemed to end rather abruptly, but I suspect that was my incredible tune-out ability at work yet again. Regardless we went back to my grandmother’s, and ate a lot of ham.

Now a few closing comments.

One of the realizations I reached while ignoring the priest during the prayers was that every single Antichristian should attend Church once in a while.  It can be easy to forget just how real and imminent the delusion is, and arrogant lectors and homilies serve to help keep the flames burning.  I left that mass renewed, though not in the way the priest intended… instead I was renewed in my passion to move towards total eradication of such nonsense, to oppose it with every fiber of my being.  I also realized that in the short year between masses, I had gone from a mushy agnostic-atheist-kinda-still favoring some fluffy God concept and maybe-all-religions-have-a-puzzle-piece-of-wisdom to something pretty close to a miltant athiest.  That’s quite a change to mull over, I haven’t fully digested my thoughts on the matter yet, I’ll get back to you when I do.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a good Holiday season!

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