2002-06-24 9:40 a.m. And now, from the WTF File: I haven't been to church in a while. It's ben a few months, actually. There's no good reason for my absence, I've just been...busy. And, as any self-respecting Irish Catholic would be, I feel incredibly guily about it. It doesn't help matters that God has been dropping clues that it's time to come back. Now, I'm not one to belive that God speaks directly to me. I mean, if the president has something to say to me, he doesn't call my cell. No, he involves CNN and the Associated Press and late night teevee talk show hosts. Likewise, if God has something to tell me about, say, my drinking habits; he doesn't speak directly to me in the bling light of love and calm. No, he sends his trusted lieutenant, the Hangover. What I'm trying to say is that God's been dropping hints to get me to go back to church. And normally I'd dismiss the 'hints' as products of my overactive imagination. But they're weird. And plentiful. And I couldn't ignore anymore. I'd hang up from a go-receive-communion guilt trip from my mom only to walk out my front door and practically trip over a priest. I'd take a walk around my new neighborhood, not knowing where i was going, and walk past not one, but two catholic churches. And lots of other weird things. I can't remember them all right now, but the end result was that I finally decided to go back. The main Catholic Church in my 'hood is Holy Cross. Saturday evening, after I'd finished my errands, I cleaned myself up (it was 342 degrees in Baltimore on Saturday. Seriously.) and walked on over. I was actually looking forward to Mass. The church is phenomenal from the outside and I was looking forward to seeing the inside. The last time I joined a new church, the parishoners were warm and welcoming right from Mass#1, so I wanted to experience that again too. I got there. Did a li'l prayin'. Mass started. And I immediately (and for the next 45 minutes) fought the urge to fall right asleep. The priest, bless his heart, was 184 years old and talked. just. like. this. I'd say the average age of the congregation was somewhere north of 80. It wasn't exactly a wellspring of warmth and love and energy. Y'know - the things I look for in a church. So, I made it through the Mass. I was happy to have gone back, but wondering if St. Mary's would be a better fit for me and frankly happy to be getting out so that I could wake up on the walk back to my house. At the end of the Mass, but before the recessional, a younger priest took the, umm, stand - no - lectern. He told us that he was sorry that there was no bulletin, but it had to be pulled for some last minute changes. It seems the church had decided to "terminate" the music director for a "prior sexual abuse conviction" related to a minor. The younger priest then tld us that he had known about the conviction and had hired the now ex-music director to give him a second chance. But, because he may have put some of the parishoners at risk, he was tendering his resignation as well. To say my fellow church-goers were shocked would be a gross understatement. The mood was about the same as it would have been had I walked to the altar, dropped my pants and had 'sin is cool' tatooed on my, errrm, vestibule. So, yeah, extreme shock mixed with general disgust. So I walked home. With one question swimming in my head: What. The. Fuck? Was I brought back to church only to find myself bored and tired to the point of tears? Was I brought to this new church so that I'd be driven back to my old church? Why, on the night I decide to go back, am I presented with this drama? Is there a lesson here? If so, what? I don't get it. downtown----uptown leave me a note, fool!

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