Church with Jessie

Upon planning a sleepover, I invited Jessie to come to church with us. She asked several questions, like “What do you do there?”, “How do we do this 'church' thing?”, and “How do I not offend anyone while there?” I answered to the best of my ability, and with the offense question, we compiled a list of things that she is not allowed to say (see below).

She agreed to come with us, and we prepared her with various information that she may need to know, such as what to do when the meal starts, what to say, how to accept food, how to act, and other related topics. We had the sleepover, in which we got tans from the glow of the computer and relaxed with Portillo's food deep in our stomachs. We went to sleep after briefly reviewing what NOT to do in church.

So today I went to church. I brought Jessie along.

Here's a list of things that Jessie isn't allowed to say or talk about in church:

1. Swear words
2. Genitalia
3. Atheism
4. Sexuality
5. Church virgin
6. George Carlin
7. “So, is this the flesh of Jesus?...OHMYGAWD!”
8. Oh my god.
9. Aww, Jesus Christ.
10. “Don't touch me there, you're not my priest!'
11. “These little kids can't sing AT ALL!”
12. Tittybits
13. “Am I supposed to know these songs?”
14. “Which one is wine and which one is grape juice?”
15. “Do I need to wear a dress for this, because I'm not wearing a dress.”
16. “Who is THAT?!”

It began with Jessie walking in, chattering about stained glass windows and excitably clapping when seeing some within the vicinity. Then the music started, and while the organ was playing, Jessie was looking around nervously, going, “Where is that coming from? I see a piano, but no one is playing it. WHERE IS THAT COMING FROM, SWEET BABY JESUS WHERE.” Eventually, she assumed it was recorded and decided that the church had very nice sound equipment.

It wasn't until the orchestra had nearly stopped playing that she realized that the music was live and coming from fifty feet away from her on a raised platform.

Singing began, and while she fumbled with a song book (Jessie: a “bible thing”) and began lip-synching words to songs she didn't know, her actions most likely gained several odd looks and general embarassment for me, my family, and anyone around us.

The sermon started, and when the priest said, “Peace be with you”, I had to forcibly shake Jessie's hand and look her dead in the eye and nearly growl, “Peace be with you” in a cheery tone for her to wipe the deer-in-the-head-light eyes off of her face and recognize what we were doing, even though I CLEARLY spelt this out for her several times before we arrived. She awkwardly extended her hand to some people around her that looked vaguely interested in the new face, like a tiger circling a dead hyena, and tried to say her “Peace”s, but her vocal cords didn't activate and she might or might not have seemed either really shy or like a selective mute. (Jessie: I was just trying not to say, “I have no idea what I'm doing. Live long and prosper.”)

The meal began and while her confusion was splayed on her face like paint, her actions were decent. She went up to the priest, didn't demand bread but took it nicely, and drank the “blood” like a shot of vodka. (Jessie: I almost drank the wine, and I was so focused on the getting the purple stuff that I didn't even remember to eat the bread first or whatever. I saw the juice and was like, “GO FOR IT.” The flesh was delicious and tasted like Hawaiian bread.)

The priest talked again, and she hummed some more songs she didn't know, and while in general the afternoon went off without disastor, I'm pretty sure that she shouldn't come to church with us anymore.

Then we got doughnuts and heard about a tornado. The tornado part is, we think, an omen of agreement of Jessie's prohibition from churches everywhere or punishment for bringing her to one in the first place.