So Sick of Sermons

Thought I had timed it right this morning but no. Fr. Flapdoodle* still had some wind left in his sails as I entered the World’s Ugliest Catholic Church. Fr. F. is a particularly awful homilist — so bad that for a few weeks I brought my Kindle to church to read during his meandering talks — but, to be fair, it’s not just him. He also has my Baptist past working against him.

Most of us can duck the occasional sermon, yet PKs are pretty much always expected to put in an appearance. According to a rough estimate, growing up I listened to approximately 2,000 sermons. To understand the effect that had, picture a sponge that starts out dry and then gets saturated with water. At some point, it can’t absorb any more. Add a degree in biblical studies on top of that and it’s just going to be well nigh impossible for a lackluster preacher to do anything other than annoy me.

During homilies, I thank God for all of the distractions: the statuary, the stations of the cross, the silly modern decorations, or, today, the rowdy young boys from the large Mexican family that I sat next to in back. And then, for the offering, one of the usual volunteers was assisted by his grandson, a redhead who could have been my very own younger soulless doppelganger. So, all told, a good morning.

* Name changed for comic effect.