Rejected by God

OK, so maybe saying we were rejected by God is a bit harsh, but my family and I were definitely rejected by our church this past Sunday…another symptom of this stupid pandemic.

In fairness to our church leaders and staff, they’re doing a phenomenal job providing in-person services. These days, we’re lucky to have church at all. Our leaders have figured out a way to have services in our gym and keep everyone masked up and socially distant.

Of course, keeping people healthy is not the only challenge to overcome.

Our priests are dutifully staying compliant and keeping their masks on throughout the service. So sometimes a homily sounds like, “And Jesus said, ‘Harumph scaruff slindish caumfrud dis flooshing heffer.’”

One positive development of this is that you really have to pay attention now if you want to get any of the message. No drifting off anymore because we aren’t getting closed captioning, so we might as well adjust. It’s the new normal, right?

Peaf fee fif du.

Like I said, even with the translation issues, my church has taken extraordinary measures to provide in-person services, and that is much appreciated. But if you want to take part in the service, you can’t be a second late.

Our service starts at 10 a.m. My family and I arrived at 10:02 and were waved away and shunned like coach travelers trying to sneak into first class.

Unfortunately, church staff has to close the doors promptly in order to ensure the escorting of parishioners to designated seating and other protocol are followed to the letter. I get that. But we did have extenuating circumstances… this time.

Yes, my wife likes to push the envelope. Why be early to something when you can get there exactly on time…or a little late occasionally?

But this time, we weren’t late. We pulled into the lot at 9:55.

Our gym parking lot isn’t exactly designed for a church-load of cars or speedy entry and/or exit. It’s so tight it makes Trenholm Plaza look like the wide-open racetrack that is Columbia Place Mall. Anyway, a tiny spot was available, but as I pulled in, a fellow parishioner stood there with her door wide open as she struggled to don her mask oblivious to the fact she was blocking my spot.

The face mask struggle is real, and I’m down with it. So I politely pulled out and went to park on the other side of her car, but her son was busy doing the same thing on the passenger side.

I waited patiently because—like I said—the struggle is real, but I knew the clock was ticking.

Eventually, I gave up, backed up, weaved around multiple cars, and squeezed my way into another spot. I must say it was some top-notch maneuvering, but we’d lost valuable seconds. We finally arrived at the gym doors two minutes late only to witness that our fellow parishioners had apparently finally figured out their masks and were on their way into the services as we received the hand of rejection.

So the moral of the story is…lay on the horn and put the fear of God into those blocking your way to salvation… or maybe just get to church a tad bit earlier.

Get copies of Mike’s new books Sunnybrook and 20 Years of Something on Amazon here.