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Religious Etuquette

Junie Moon

Religion in this family;
mom, dad
going to church Sunday morn mandatory
sitting, listening politely while fighting
sleep a hypnotic haze overtaking the senses

Father (something) or the right reverend (something),
ministers presiding over this show offer
communion to those who felt
their sins to be under control this week;
others chose to be sequestered in a tiny wooden box;
Under some perceived anonymity—hah!

These retro-sinners will sit, confess their
latest sins and expect absolution, now with
all wrong-doing carried away on a prayer,
their envelopes appropriately stuffed with ‘hush money’
they offer this to the holy man;
payments covertly made to keep all their
secrets, expiration date, good for only one week

How did this good ‘guy’ get this job?
Who elected him the right to judge your soul?
It seems that he was appointed,
and his boss as well and on and on
until someone puts a funny hat on an old man
sets him up with everything one could
want for, even a ‘tricked’ out super car.

What the hell do these men do?
How does that add to the congregation’s mundane life?
The pews, full of faces watching the parade go by;
rather official people, elaborately clothed,
proclaimed as God’s messengers,
holding the only keys to some gate—-holy crap!

organized chaos written by hypocrites,
protected by some artificial sanctum;
now the lambs are trapped, a time warp
squeezed painfully between
two hour marathons before the collective
exodus of cars, sore butts and
rumbling stomachs escape

The sermon, was some babble
over some Bible verses or
community rumors or disguised gossip,
punctuated by well rehearsed ‘Amen’s’
‘cause who’s really listening
hanging on every word without looking
at a watch over and over again

Sin is sometimes touched on
but not given a thorough trashing
unless inspired by headlines of violence or nudity
spectacular enough to fit the program

Passing around a golden bowl
people put money in, looks like
penance comes in an envelope
and wipes away that weeks sins

Every moment of the morning
choreographed, staging a play,
even a program (words and songs)
supports timing,
9am commencement till
Benediction at 11am,
Order above all things

Children in every pew
fidgeting, boys pulling
girl’s bows; everyone dressed
up with only one place to go;
shyly but assuredly showing
off and flaunting their wealth;
if God came now at least his
‘flock’ looks really nice;
conspicuous consumption,
designer labels seen by all.

In the back of our collective heads
there are no words that translate biblically to
holy cow, I’m free at last.
‘damn these shoes hurt my feet’
‘this tie is strangling me’
‘get on with your long winded self’
‘I have a golf game at one’

Parishioners stand in lines at that polished
wood railing and take communion
like the sheep we have become;
tasteless white wafers placed on
our tongues then wine
or grape juice, it all taste the same

Stomachs growling loud, did
anyone hear that sound?

At last those huge doors with
iron rings running through
large lion noses flung open,
the devout, jailed for their sins,
set free

next Sunday will be the same,
Mass at 9am,
more words that anyone really
wants to hears,
the finale, shaking hands
With somebody’s Father, add
some mumble jumble
‘How’s the family?’
God’s ordained, privileged man, adjusts his collar,
watching his Timex, he too has
his own agenda, personal not congregational

Everyone in their Sunday attitude
not thinking of the hungry, the homeless,
the poor are passed by; did you see the ragged man
standing in the medium, sign ‘disabled help me’?
Cold winters, hot summers, we turn our heads,
God would be so impressed
seeing how affluent, his well off church goers are;

we keep pushing world crisis away from
polite conversation, skirting around real
problems, even the minister sidesteps
global, regional and local issues; these are
just holiday maladies, put can goods in the box
pick a angel from the brightly lit mall;
now don’t we all feel so blessed that we helped?
Ministers must maintain that sanctimonious role;
there are requirements to meet to keep his cushy job;
Sunday Mass is dismissed, Hallelujah!!

‘Can we get an ice cream on the way home?
No, Grandma wants the family for dinner’
SHOOT, It was almost a clean get away. Damn it!
I guess that’s another penance for next Sunday.

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