Sunday, July 19, 2009

Baaaa-d Catholics

The Mayor and The Rooster, under the influence of peer pressure from their short and loud, southern, church going, tiny friends, came home this week and complained that their father and I actively deny them the experience of going to church.

"You NEVER take us to church," they whined. "We want to go to church."

[Church of the Zoo no longer counts, apparently.]

So, okay fine. We'll go to church.

The Mayor went on to insist that he had to have dress clothes just like those his father wears to work in order attend.

He hounded me about this every day this week until I took him to Macy's and set him free with my credit card.

In the image of the Father?


Let us pray.

At the church mass, there was a whole lot of talk about Jeremiah.

[Not the one who was a bullfrog.]

The Priest read something from the Bible...

"Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock of my pasture, says the LORD."

[I pity the fool who misleads my flock!]

"Therefore, thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, against the shepherds who shepherd my people: You have scattered my sheep and driven them away."

[The well known Ovine Diaspora.]

"You have not cared for them, but I will take care to punish your evil deeds."

[Serious time out.]

"I myself will gather the remnant of my flock from all the lands to which I have driven them and bring them back to their meadow; there they shall increase and multiply."

[Oooh! Baby lambs!]

"I will appoint shepherds for them who will shepherd them so that they need no longer fear and tremble; and none shall be missing, says the LORD."

The Mayor furrowed his brow in all earnestness, concentrating on the words, determined to follow their meaning.

Finally, he leaned over to his Father and said,

"Why is he talking so much about people who own sheep?"

The Priest gave K a look of concern because my poor husband was suddenly hunched over with his shoulders shuddering violently and he appeared to be inconsolably sobbing into his hands.


thatgirlblogs said...

At least you got a suit out of it. Handy for Christmas and Easter.

Anonymous said...

I love your bracketed additions. Also, hilarious!

Kyla said...

The Mayor is rocking that suit.

Quite funny!

deb said...

I love your family.

Reesie said...

As a reformed Catholic, I am dying, just DYING!!!!

That is freakin' classic.

Barb said...

You aren't bad Catholics. Thanks for your play by play of Mass!

3carnations said...

Our family attends a Methodist church together, but Hubby attends a Catholic church separately on his own. Every once in a while, we go with hubby to the Catholic one. The first time we took our son to the Catholic one, he was dismayed (and I don't disagree with him), that they did not have open Communion. "Why can't we have bread?" he asked, as hubby went up to partake. Indeed.

Amy said...

Great picture.

We heard all the sheep stuff at Mass yesterday too. I like your commentary and wish I'd had you next to me saying it out loud because we have The Most Boring Droning God-Awful (no pun intended) Priest Ever. Thankfully, he's only guest priesting.

Anonymous said...

Well maybe your father and I were Bad Parents but when you started whining about being deprived because we did not take you to church like your friends parent's did, we told you to go to church with your friends. You did. For a short time. Whining ended. ;-)
BTW laghed until I cried!

Julie said...

Your priest makes God sound like Little Bo-Peep! No wonder The Mayor got confused! :P They look adorable, I'm a sucker for father and son matchy-match.

liliannattel said...

You can't learn a lot about religion by listening to kids.

apathy lounge said...

Well...they used to have the Red Letter Edition of the Bible. Maybe they need the OTJ that things will make more sense to the rest of us.

WILLIAM said...

That is great.

K said...

That is hilarious! And really - why *is* the shepherd the metaphor of choice in the good book? I guess they didn't have dairy farmers back then?

Above Average Joe said...

You just have to come up and attend a New England Catholic mass. 1/2 hour, by the book, no big speeches and we then speed home ignoring whatever was said thinking we did our good Christian deed for the week.