I Might Be Going to Hell

They had a Mass yesterday for all the families of our School. As I said before, the school is in ruins. I’ve not been depressed about it. It is what it is. I can’t change it. You pick up the pieces and move on. We got the good news yesterday for our contingency plans to keep educating our children and they are inconvenient, but doable.

This 5:30 Mass was to be said by the Bishop. All Bishops in our family are called, “The Bish”. We’ve never heard The Bish say Mass… not since he arrived. Our Diocese is on their 4th Bish in probably as many years. The first left because it was discovered he was a pedophile in his past. So the Pope hand picked the next Bish and he was supposed to be this wonderful man from TN, that the Catholics there were so sad to see go. (Didn’t know they had any Catholics in TN.) He stayed about a year and then he left because they found out… HE was a pedophile in his past. So they brought in yet a 3rd Bish, this guy seriously handpicked for us as our the Diocese was a mess now and he stayed about 6 months before…. They moved him off to Boston to fix THEIR mess. Let me tell you, that man is a great man. He’s a Monk. Very intense and very spiritual. It was sad to see him go. So now we have this new guy. And he came to bring comfort to all of us.

As I said, I’m not sad about this. I was sad yesterday because it was 9/11. Losing the school is no biggy. It’s a material thing and I’m not into material things. But I thought that our going to this Mass would be a good thing. It was a ‘community’ healing and I thought we should be part, even though I’m not Catholic and I NEVER go to Mass with my husband and boys.

I pull out my ‘Sunday Best’. I may not go to church but I know how to dress for church. Light blue dress, hose, black heels, I put my jeweled flag pin over my heart and we leave. Catholics do not know how to dress for church. (Seriously, no offense to my Catholic readers. I’m just stating from my limited personal experience.) I don’t care what any of you say, it is a place of worship and you should respect it. Everyone was in shorts and flip flops. I was appalled. And yes I am aware of this attitude that it should be a place for everyone and not everyone can afford nice clothes and to that attitude, I call BS on you because everyone can afford one nice set of clothing, at least everyone who lives where we live. So that was my first peeve. I stood out like a sore thumb. And if I go to Mass with them ever again, I will still break out my Sunday Best.

OK, so why am I going to hell? Because I spent too much time trying not to laugh at people and laughing at people is just wrong and something I normally NEVER do. They had this woman doing the readings. I don’t know what the deal was, but she obviously has serious reading and pronunciation issues. No, I’m not kidding. I was reading along with her and had to stop and look up to see if this was a joke. I was listening to the equivalent of a female Mr. Bean. When she stood up to do the last reading I looked at my husband and said, “Is this for real?!” I can’t even begin to tell you the words and how they came out. And I could not quit laughing inside.

Then I totally forgot that their new priest was right off the boat from Italy. I hadn’t met him yet. Here I am in the back of the Church, bored out of my mind, flipping through this little paperback book they have with prayers and stuff in it, when I hear Father Guido Sarducci. Or that’s who it sounded like! Once again, I sit bolt straight up and crane my neck to see who in the heck is speaking. Every time he spoke, I choked back a laugh!

Meanwhile Son#3 is bored and miserable and no matter how many evil eyes I gave him or how many times my husband pulled him in his lap, he somehow made it very known he did not want to be there. At one point I looked down and he was lying completely prone, on his back, on the kneeler, stretched out staring up at the ceiling making clicking noises with his throat. I started to come unglued. We had to separate the boys. And just as I thought it was going well, I saw Son#3 lean way over the pew and attempt to grab a ruffle on the mini-skirt of the scantily clad sweet young thing standing in front of us. My husband grabbed him just before he got a handful of skirt. I gasped.

Son#2 while sitting next to me kept rubbing my hose. Son#3 finally ended up next to me. We’re kneeling as they had just done the Communion thing when I feel a small hand rubbing my back. Then rubbing my waist (what there is of one). Then suddenly this small hand is rubbing my butt and my leg! I looked down at him and gave him this evil eye and he moved his hand, grinned and gave me this imp look.

Overall, I think Mass went well. We didn’t get asked to leave. That’s always a bonus.