It does if it doesn't
Went to church this morning, my first Georgia church-going experience. My expectations for Mass, priest and congregation were high, probably too high. What I wanted to hear this morning was a slow-talking, e-nun-ci-at-ing, hand-raising preacher man. I wanted knock-down miracle cures. I wanted a television broadcast for the homebound and easily scammed. I wanted the walls to sway back and forth with the shoulders of the perspiring, struck alive in the organ-pumping song of the Lord! (Not unlike the performance by Electric Mayhem in the Muppet Movie.)
But as I learned in grade school, "Catholic" means universal, and no visions of deep Southern, Protestant-infused grandeur were going to change things drastically this morning. The congregation was air-conditioned, spread out as to get the most space for themselves and sang politely. There was no television broadcast. There were no miracle cures. And the priest was a fast-talking Irishman.
Go figure. So far the South has been confusing my expectations in some ways, but completely living up to them in others. Take my trip yesterday to the local CVS. In the middle of the store, there's a wider than normal aisle where summer-related items are sold. Sandals, beach toys, plastic lawn chairs.
Sitting in the middle of the CVS aisle, in plastic lawn chairs, were four friends. Settled and comfortable, they had obviously been there for a while. The college-age kids sat and talked, one checking his watch from time to time. As they sat, another friend walked down the aisle to join them. "Hey, what're you guys up to?" he asked. "Oh," replied one of the aisle-sitters, "we're just waiting for our photos."
Killing an hour in the South, folks.
March 6th, 2009 at 10:13 PM
[...] this the Irish priest who presided at the Atlanta-area parish I briefly attended? The one who wrote the homily for the wrong readings, realized his mistake on Saturday night, ran [...]