As author of stories about vampires and zombies and the like, I thought it my duty to accept an invitation to the Midnight Mass at the Santa Cruz Holy Cross, given that by far the richest wellspring of horrific imagery the western world has ever seen is the Catholic Church.
“What time is the midnight mass?” About 11:30. The place was packed. A man told me it was disrespectful to wear my hat. God doesn’t want me to keep my head warm in church. How many of these little pointless rules are just meant to inch the victim toward total mindless obedience?
I’ve also been chastised for going barefoot in church, but that’s another story.
Looking around at the decor, the gold trim, the Latin, the saints and so on, plus the tortured Jesus hanging under the peak of a high Gothic arch, I decided that the Catholic Church, being about the oldest Christian institution, must possess more cruft than any other. They cling to every little relic of the past with obsessive abandon.
Example: when being explained the rules about transubstantiation, I wondered at how the collective corporate consciousness of the hierarchists found it necessary to come up with a physical explanation for ideas meant to be metaphorical.
How could it all be the body of Jesus? His body could never have been large enough to cover all of the hosts that have been consumed over history. And if it’s the body of Jesus, which body part might it be? I wondered. The whole body, was the answer. Hm. OK. So is the lesson that we ought to be cannibals?
If Jesus had been a zombie, would he have said “take these brains, for they are my body…” And the Catholics do have zombies – they talk about how worms eat the flesh and the dead shall rise.
When one is so glued to the past, one’s mind caught up in rationalizing ridiculous rituals, how can it be possible to look the present straight in the face and make clearly-reasoned intelligent decisions? And yet, the priests expect to be wondrous counselors. For example, it seems obvious to Catholics that I talk to, that the sexual abuse in the church will never end until they allow priests to marry. It would seem rather obvious that the sexual repression is a likely culprit. But somehow this venerable organization can’t work out such a simple obvious answer.
I picture the modern corporation as a similarly dysfunctional (if younger) sort of entity. I recently received an advertisement for financial consulting, explaining to me that in order to reduce investment risk as I get older, I should use a financial adviser. And I imagine such people are now desperate for clients to (pay to) heed their advice. Does it occur to them that some of us might have a wee bit of difficulty, given recent history, trusting the word of a financial adviser as reliable way to decrease risk?
The music was dutiful. There was a lot of it, and it was quite properly performed, but the air did not seem to be one of celebration.
The priest gave the standard spiel about how God gave his only Son to save us from our sins (atonement theology has got to be the most singularly toxic load of bull in existence, and incidentally something Jesus himself never taught), and we sang silent night.
An image that sticks in my mind is the priest sitting in his holy chair (with gold triangles on the posts) after having given communion. He looked about as contented as Jesus having miraculously produced loaves and fishes to feed the flock, and he just kind of sat there smiling for a while.
Maybe it was the wine?
December 26, 2009 at 12:06 am |
Yep–as per usual, you have it right-on. I agree especially about the lack of celebration–seemed dutiful, and I was expecting something more joyous. People seemed a bit stunned. And I forgot about the priest on the throne trip–I always wonder if any of them fell asleep at that point (I mean, you’re right–bread, wine, I’d fall asleep, too).