| Cathleen Falsani

Yo Cheasters, relax: ‘Twice a year is better than zero’

Shout out to all the cheasters in the audience!

You know who you are.

Twice a year, you find yourself in unfamiliar and discomforting surroundings in a church pew, on Christmas and Easter.

You try to blend in, try to remember the words to the hymn, when to stand, when to sit, when to pray, how much cash to toss into the collection basket, and which way the sign of the cross goes. (Remember: Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch.)

Twice a year — out of a sense of obligation, guilt or nostalgia, to keep the family peace, to find some inner peace, to sing the carols from childhood — you drag yourself to the Midnight Mass or the Candlelight Hymn Sing or sung eucharist or morning worship service. On Christmas and Easter.

Cheasters.

“Twice a year is better than zero,” Kristofer Skrade, a Lutheran minister in Minneapolis who edited a very funny, very helpful little tome, The Christian Handbook, was telling me the other day. Skrade, 39, was a pastor for 10 years before becoming an editor at Augsburg Books last year.

“No one expects anyone to come every Sunday. That’s just unreasonable.”

That should be some solace for all you cheasters.

Skrade is not afraid of using a spoonful of humor to make the medicine go down. The Christian Handbook (and its predecessor, The Lutheran Handbook) offer practical advice for the “unchurched” or others who are, perhaps, a wee bit rusty on all things churchy.

The handbooks, which resemble, in design and spirit, those yellow How to Survive a . . . books, are filled with useful advice, some of it serious, some of it slightly less so.

For instance, there’s a chapter in The Christian Handbook titled “How to Identify a Possessed Person.” (Clues: Superhuman strength, self-inflicted wounds, crying out.) A helpful black-and-white diagram elaborates.

Another chapter explains “How to Survive for One Hour in an Un-Air Conditioned Church.” One technique: Prayer. “Jesus survived on prayer in the desert for 40 days. Lifting and extending our arms in an open prayer position may help cool your body by dispersing excess heat. If you’ve been perspiring, though, avoid exposing others to your personal odor.”

Note to self.

Then there are the paired chapters on “The Seven Funniest Bible Stories” (No. 7: Peter can’t swim.) and “The Five Grossest Bible Stories” (No. 1: Eglon and Ehud. It’s from Judges 3:12-30. I’ll let you look it up. Suffice to say — nasty!)

“There’s a sense that to be a Christian, you have to adhere rigorously to some framework that is unchangeable. And you can’t crack a smile about any of that,” Skrade said. “But the lightheartedness of humor is an essential ingredient that can add leaven to the loaf.”

So the pithy little handbooks are meant to enlighten as well as inform. Subversive. I like that in a Lutheran.

In part, the handbooks are meant to help the uninitiated avoid uncomfortable or embarrassing situations in the house of the Lord. One example of such ecclesiastical faux pas would be “Mr. Bean.” He’s the odd, socially awkward character played by British comic Rowan Atkinson on English TV and PBS back in the 1990s.

One of Bean’s best blunders happens in church. He battles sleep as the minister drones on, can’t figure out how to unwrap his cellophane-covered hard candy without incurring the wrath of the “regulars” in the pew next to him. And then he makes a fatal mistake: He tries to sing along with a hymn he recognizes. And he overdoes it.

The congregation is singing, “All Creatures of Our God and King,” aka “The Hymn of St. Francis of Assisi,” and he mutters through until they get to the chorus where they sing, “O praise Him, O praise Him, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.” And then, anticipating the final chord, Bean, in full voice, howls, “Hallelujah . . . lujah . . .lujah . . . luuuuuujaaaah.” Lord have mercy. We’ve all been there.

Taking pity on the cheasters among us, Skrade has offered a few pieces of advice on “How to Pass as a Church Regular Even Though You Only Attend on Christmas Eve.”

And gleaning a few pearls of wisdom from my decade of experience as someone who goes to church for a living, I’ve added a few tips of my own.

1. Secret Weapon: the Web.

Visit the church Web site ahead of time to familiarize yourself with staff names, faces, titles, etc. Double-check the service time. Don’t be late. Or worse — early.

2. The Buffer Zone: Guests.

Bring a friend or family member with you to worship, as your regular absence likely will be forgiven if you have a fresh face in tow.

3. Bribery: Gifts for the staff.

Bring a bagful of small stocking-stuffer-type gifts or, better yet, baked goods, to hand out to the pastor and staff. Chocolate covers a multitude of sins.

4. Reel it in: You want to blend.

Avoid praying or singing too loudly, gushing over the sermon or the music, or making in-the-moment promises to attend more often. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb. Play it cool. Shake the pastor’s hand and say, “Thank you for a lovely service.”

5. Strategy: Picking a pew.

Location is everything. If you sit too close to the front, you might as well have a spotlight follow you. But slinking into the last pew in the sanctuary is just as obvious. Aim for the middle, along the side, so you don’t have to walk the center aisle. Scoot over.

6. Eye contact: Moderation.

Church ladies can smell fear. If you look sheepish about being there, they will feel the need to comfort you. If you smile too big and feign recognition, a socially awkward moment is sure to follow. If you make eye contact, smile confidently, and slowly pan the room.

7. Peace: Be with you.

Yes, you have to do this. Stick out your hand and say, “Peace.” They won’t bite. Usually.

8. Eat light: No turkey!

Tryptophan and midnight mass do not mix. Two glasses of wine before a long sermon is a recipe for disaster.

9. Collection plate: Be not afraid.

Put a little something in if you want to, but don’t sweat it. If you’re a guest, no one expects you to whip out your checkbook.

10. Exit: Wait for it.

No leaving after communion.

No hopping over pews.

No honking in the parking lot.

So, Merry Christmas, cheasters.

Don’t forget to tip your usher.