Last night I was watching Saturday Night Live and they had some tasteless joke. (Pardon the pun-see the title of this blog.) One of the cast members was explaining unleavened bread to his audience of heathens. “Unlike Jesus, it rises,” he said.
This Easter I feel like a piece of unleavened bread. In fact, I really feel like a piece of kakka. But I digress.
This is because I am a man without a home– in many ways. And I get little encouragement to find one.
I am like a piece of unleavened bread. I am not rising either. Indeed, I am falling. Falling right out of my Christianity.
God bless the church, but I feel like a character in a popular insurance commercial. He has an accident and the other motorist conjures up his agent, who miraculously appears on the scene in a flash.
“Blaah, Blaaah Blaah, agent please come help”, says the first man. His son looks and tells his Dad,”Look Dad. Grandma!”
Now everyone loves their grandma. But this granny is on a pay phone in the middle of nowhere. Grandma looks at her son, phone in ear, and says ,”Five callers ahead of us Jimmy.”
“Mom, you’re not helping,” he replies
To me, the church is like Jimmy’s Mom. She means well, but she is not helping.
I slept in the office last night and really did not feel like going to church. But, hey, it was Easter, it was beautiful out, and if you can’t go to church on Easter Sunday, what kind of Christian are you.
So I walked to this church I have been wanting to try. I walked into their host building, another denominational church, and for the third time no one knew who the hell I was talking about.
I keep getting told by its minister via online communication that someone will meet me at the entrance. However, this entrance seems to be in the Twilight Zone because I have gone to them all and there is never anyone there. And I am sure I have the right building.
I don’t live particularly close to this church either. It is only near my workplace. The other two times I walked 75 minutes to get there.
Now, this kind of thing is solve-able I know. I just need to take a little initiative. But I am so tired and exhausted and beat up that I can’t bring myself to take that initiative.
God is not speaking. The Church is not speaking. I feel abandoned. Have I finally gone to where perhaps many have gone before? Have I gone so far as to either “lose” my salvation or now discover that I never really had it?
I ran across an article recently about the death of the mother of a popular broadcaster. He tells of his last days with his Mom and how she shared some things he never knew.
Although the story is about a man who has lost his Mom, something that has happened to me in the last couple of years, I focused on the information about the man’s Dad.
Pop did not come across too well in this article. The Dad was an alcoholic. The Mom told her son on her deathbed that her husband gave them one last gift–he died.
In other words, what I get from Mom is that she felt that it was better for her addicted, unrepentant husband to be removed from their lives entirely than to be connected to them in his inebriated condition.
As a fallen man with his own issues, I do sympathize with Mom here. But I also know that the Dad probably had a story to tell–except his will remain untold. But he had a side.
The legacy of this man according to Mom which comes across in this article is that he has none. None worth remembering anyway.
But somehow I feel that Mom did not tell it all to her son, at least anything he could publicly air. The broadcaster did say that his Mom had an affair with a married man after her husband died. What this tells me is that she too was a fallen human being. “Who was she to cast stones at her dead husband?” I ask myself.
So in truth I sympathize more with the Dad. He was unable to cope for whatever reason.
This is where I am. I am not coping. And “You’re not helping church.”