If you’re anything like me, the last time you prayed was either while watching a sporting event, hugging a toilet, or after open-mouth kissing a hooker; but here comes Christmas Eve, our last chance at salvation.  Oh yes, it’s that time of year again; that one glorious hour a year which we spend in church attempting to absolve ourselves from an action-packed year of sinnin’.  In order to catch the 8pm service, our family wolfs down an absurd amount of pasta right around 7pm and then piles into the car.  Like every year, I’m forced to stuff myself into the unaccommodating 3^rd row of seats because I am the child (23) and apparently age will forever outrank height.

Like some bizarre breed of religious gypsies, over the course of 10 years, we’ve been to at least 4 or 5 different churches.  As I am now 23, this cannot possibly be due to my Sunday School behavior at age 8 for which “I am no longer welcome.”  I thought church was like prison, and that they can’t turn people away; I thought wrong.  This year’s new holiday hot spot is actually located in a neighborhood.  Somehow, we manage to find front row parking just steps away from the front door of the cathedral.  As the clown car unloads, I take in the sights and smells of the elderly.  Through a window, I can see my grandma and Bill (step-grandpa) as they, along with the rest of the choir, prepare for the impending show.  Won’t my friends be jealous, I’m related to a member of the band!

As I enter, an old man who has intentionally dressed up in a captain’s suit thinking that it’s just a regular suit gives me a handshake and a program.  I quickly flip through it, but am unable to find any stats on tonight’s key players.  I’m at the end of the line as my family attempts to lock down some “good seats.”  Besides my dad, mom, and sister, we are also accompanied by 2 other distant relatives; one of which does not speak English.  My contention is that we brought them so we don’t look the most out of place.  Moments after we’re seated, I already have to use the bathroom; since we still have 5 minutes til showtime, no harm, no foul.

On the way to the restroom, I walk against the grain as the choir enters.  My grandma has already entered, so I fist-bump Bill and carry on my way.  After realizing that whole wheat pasta was in fact a poor choice, I return to my seat.  On the way, I’m stopped by Captain and he asks me if I have a candle.  I told him that I couldn’t remember whether or not my family had grabbed them, so he hands me 3.  Upon pew arrival, I realize that my family does have candles, so now I have 3 extra to play with during the show.  Just as the show begins, I scan the room for hot bible bangers; I find 1, but she looks 14, tops.

I can barely see my grandma because there is a cross in front of her.  Without hesitation, I wave my hands frantically in the air until I am noticed.  She sees me and then proceeds to turn red as she whispers to her neighboring band member that “[I’m] her grandson.”  When the female pastor beings to speak, something is awry; she is way too perky and nice.  She reminds me of a Stepford wife; she is up to no good and must be stopped.  As she carries on, I’m the only one who continuously giggles on cue every time she says “baby Jesus.”  Apparently members of this church are not fans of Ricky Bobby.  As I continue to text friends who don’t believe that I’m actually at church, I start to notice that it is very hot.  At first I think this might just be the evil permeating from my skin, but when I notice everyone else using their programs as fans, I realize I am not alone.

About 15 minutes into the show, I read my program and learn that we are only on “lesson 2” of 6.  Between the Sahara level heat and all of the standing/sitting for street theater-style hymn singing, I feel round 2 of whole wheat pasta rapidly approaching.  As sweat begins to drip down the back of my knees, I notice that the old man seated in front of me smells like glue; he also had a particularly interesting pattern of ear hair.  I’m also surprised that my dad is still awake; generally by this point he has already snored loud enough to captivate the audience and steal the pastor’s thunder.  Once lesson 3 is completed, I feel that it’s an appropriate time to update my Twitter/Facebook status:

“At church.  Clearly I don’t belong.  I feel as if the church elders can smell the sin…”

Right around the half way point, the church leeches pass around the metal bowls in an attempt to blatantly exploit the giving-spirit of the congregation.  I’m sitting on the end, so when Church Leech #1 hands me the bowl I say “no thanks.”  Apparently this is not an option; so I pass it down towards my dad and as he drops in some money, I explain to Church Leech #1 that “it’s from all of us.”  After the Church Leeches take us to the cleaners, they attempt to pull the wool over our eyes by following up with a musical fan favorite, O Little Town of Bethlehem.  As my sister holds the hymn book open and offers me a glance, I refuse and decide to whistle the theme from Happy Days instead.  As I begin to applaud after the performance, I quickly realize this is frowned upon; so instead I take a picture to capture the magic.

Before I know it, we are done with lesson 5.  Somewhere during the Stepford’s speech, I heard her say something along the lines of “it’s ok to forgive prostitutes.”  At first I thought I had just made this up in my head or that maybe I was drunk at church again, but after sharing a confused look with my sister, I realize this did in fact come out of Stepford’s mouth.  I scan the program once more, and this time I catch the fine print, Communion!  F**k yes, refreshments!  Thank [Gosh] I took those Jesus classes back in the day before my Sunday School mishap, because now I am eligible for snack time.  After I watch my distant relatives scarf down their undeserved snacks, I realize that the Jesus classes were a crock of sh*t.

This church has the most inefficient process I have ever seen when it comes to refreshment distribution.  They have a church elder come to one end of the pew and then pass the bread and party sauce (wine) down the line one person at a time.  When Church Elder #1 offers it to me, I say “no thanks I’m on Atkins.”  I’m not sure if she understood what I said or not because she just stared blankly at me; I guess I should have gone with my dad’s suggestion and “[asked] her where the cheese is.”  Thank [Gosh] the serving size of bread was no greater than a crouton, because my stomach was already about to explode.

I look down at my watch and to my surprise it’s almost been an hour!  Wow, I guess church isn’t all bad when you have an iPhone and they serve booze.  It is now time to light our candles and sing another fan favorite, Silent Night.  I take my 3 candles and grip them between my fingers in a Wolverine-style fashion.  Church Elder #1 lights my first candle and then once she’s gone I secretly fire up the other two.  I am proud of my artistic decision and wave my fiery claw around in the air.  After I burn my sister on the arm, I extinguish the flames; once again I prove that I am not to be trusted with fire.

As we exit the church in an orderly fashion, I notice that the Asian guy behind me is still singing way beyond the appropriate stopping point; I also notice that he still has his hymn book with him.  I tell him that “I don’t think you’re suppose to take [those] with you.”  Finally he stops singing and hustles back inside to return Jesus’ property; surely church thievery earns you an express pass to Hell.  We get a chance to meet the band after the show and congratulate them on a job well done.  After piling back in the car, I realize it will be another 365 days before I have to visit one of these places again.  In retrospect, it is a very small price to pay; an hour of prayer for a lifetime of sin.