The Buddy Christ, no AC and Berthold Brecht

This is how I spent my Sunday.
I got up early to go to Mass with my suitemate Megan. Megan and her husband Richard are both Russian Orthodox but there is no Orthodox church here in Middlebury so she goes to Mass at the Catholic Church. After two Sundays of feeling terribly heathen, I decided to go with her. I don't know where the Episcopal church is and the Catholic church is down the road, so we have breakfast and go.
The first thing I notice is that there is no organ in sight. The second thing I notice is the startling amount of people who don't look like they're going to church but instead, to the tanning bed. Those of you who have lived below I-1o for most of your lives understand what I mean. But I haven't been to the Catholic church in about eleven years (other than friends' weddings) so I just shrug and see what happens. There is no A/C, only the whirr of the box fans but I've been living for four weeks without A/C, so it's nothing really new. We sing the first hymn, the pianist has no clue what she's doing, and we get all the way to the sermon before anything really strikes me as truly wrong.
And then the priest opens his mouth.

I'm going to sidebar for a moment and reference the Kevin Smith film "Dogma." If you've seen if, then you know what I mean when I refer to the "Buddy Christ." For those of you who haven't, George Carlin plays a high-up Catholic muckymuck who, in cooperation with the diocese, is trying to revamp the image of the Catholic church, beginning with the physical representations of Christ. Namely, the extremely large crosses with Jesus and the crown of thorns. George Carlin is marvelous and delivers without a hint of palpable sarcasm the introduction to the newly redone Buddy Christ. He's giving a thumbs-up and winking, somewhat in the style of say, Matthew Lillard.

Going back to Mass, this is the first thing I think of when the priest begins to speak. Not only does he appear to be a frat boy in robes, he talks like one. I don't know what kind of classes one must take in order to become a priest. I assume that there are several classes on sermons and the like. I also assume that none of them involve telling borderline inappropriate jokes and saying H-E-double hockey sticks instead of Hell like a normal person and furthermore, like a priest is totally authorized to do.

I have no great crisis with the Catholic church. I am a very happy Episcopalian and haven't been a lapsed Catholic for eleven years. I have come to grips with almost all of my former Catholic-ness and have no desire to go back to the land of guitar masses and bad English translations. I actually think the liturgy is more reverent in Latin but I'll take British English, I think congregations sing better when they can pick a part, I think organists are not just for weddings, and I think incense is not just for the Grateful Dead, but those are my opinions.
I don't take issue with the Catholic church's views on communion, and even though I was baptized RC, I didn't take communion on Sunday because I respect the denomination.

I take issue with one very large point: the dumbing down of a sermon. If you think that using social parlance and cracking teenagerish jokes is going to get people to comprehend and embrace salvation, I'm here to tell you that you're sadly mistaken. I'm not an evangelist but pardon me while I get up on my soapbox for a moment. There is a reason that churches have tall spires and hang large crosses high on the wall - we are meant to witness the awe and majesty and power of the Lord. He is both shepherd and warden, He is our 'feste Burg' (to quote one of my favorite hymns) but He is not on an equal footing with mortals. I think it weakens the creedence of the Almighty to reduce Him to colloquialisms. And no, I'm not talking about what you say amongst your friends or what Kevin Smith puts in his films. I'm talking about the Word as delivered through the mouth of someone who's supposed to be there to help the congregation on their spiritual journey and when he sounds like an idiot, I have a problem.
I should have stayed home and watched Veggie Tales. As we were leaving, I was a little bit muddled trying to put my finger on what exactly struck me as so wrong. Megan turned to me and said, "The Buddy Christ" and I instantly knew what she meant. And it so completely codified everything I was searching to say. And it made me sad.

So to make my Sunday even more fun, I wrote an essay on Brecht. Nothing but fun here in German camp. Hope your Sunday was better than mine.