Staying Home from Church to Watch George Snuffleupagus
"So, you didn't go to church." Wadena was sitting in a warm sunbeam, licking a paw and using it to fine-tune the angle of her ear.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Maybe I just needed a Sunday morning to think."
She paused in her licking to look at me. "Don't think too much......you won't ever go back there again." Her tone was more condescending than usual.
Wadena thinks church is a waste of time. She knows nothing of my church except what I tell her or what she overhears--but that makes no difference.....she thinks all church is a waste of time.
Don't get the wrong idea. Wadena is not an atheist. She's actually an enthusiastic theist. She not only believes in God......she thinks she IS God.
Literally.
She claims Abyssinian blood--thus she believes she is descended from the cats worshipped as Gods in ancient Egypt (strangely enough, the fact that she was found starving in the deep woods doesn't seem to interfere with her belief that she is a God).
So, any form of worship other than feeding her or attending to her litterbox is........to her--idolatry. She is offended by my straying off to church to worship other gods. But, most of all, she simply finds my faith ludicrous.
"So," she said, "you will read the Sunday paper, watch the sycophantic Snuffleupagus, drink coffee and relax.
"Stephanopoulous. He's a respected television journalist."
Wadena stopped her grooming and gave me the look. "He's a fake-smiling wimp who tries to agree with everybody to keep his job."
"Whatever. Anyhow, I'm not going to church."
"Very wise. That God you worship is dangerously crazy. He loves you. He hates you. He kills you. He brings you back to life. He forgives you. He wants to marry you (really kinky). He seems to have bizarre mood swings. This God is an abusive husband. Had you not noticed that?
"It's not exactly like that," I say.
"Ah, but it's EXACTLY like that. Massacres of children. Talking snakes! Virgin birth and blood-drinking rituals. Saved by works, saved by grace, loved but sent to eternal torture--you don't think all that's crazy?"
"Maybe to a cat."
"Maybe to ANYBODY with an IQ higher than broccoli!" Wadena started licking the other paw and I knew she would now ignore me for a while. She had established my inferiority and gullibility.
She had a point. Christianity seemed so normal until you looked at it from her point of view. All of a sudden it could seem pretty far-fetched. We had discussed it before and I found that I really had no satisfactory answers. All my teachers had always ended such discussions with statements about God moving in mysterious ways.
"That's why you have such severe problems with self-esteem."
"What?"
Wadena looked positively Cheshire-like in her happiness. "You know what I mean. Since you were a baby your religious masters have told you that you are a wretch.....weak, poor, naked, blind and unworthy. You are a poor, miserable sinner......less than nothing without Jesus."
"I don't have a problem with self-esteem," I said.
"HAH!!! You go to church and your masters insult you and call you names......and then you give them money. You could take that money and buy yourself a nice big fish........but you DON'T! Why? Because you're not worth it! You're just a wretch. Better not get your religious masters mad at you......you NEED them. Scum like you would go to Hell otherwise, right?"
"No! And I DON'T have a problem with self-esteem!"
Wadena just sat and grinned at me......Cheshire-happy again.
That reminded me. I looked at my watch. It was time for George Snuffleupagus to come on and flash that big fake grin at everybody and try to stay popular with all viewers.
I turned on the t.v. No doubt watching a snuffling, smiling, sycophant would make me feel better about myself.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Maybe I just needed a Sunday morning to think."
She paused in her licking to look at me. "Don't think too much......you won't ever go back there again." Her tone was more condescending than usual.
Wadena thinks church is a waste of time. She knows nothing of my church except what I tell her or what she overhears--but that makes no difference.....she thinks all church is a waste of time.
Don't get the wrong idea. Wadena is not an atheist. She's actually an enthusiastic theist. She not only believes in God......she thinks she IS God.
Literally.
She claims Abyssinian blood--thus she believes she is descended from the cats worshipped as Gods in ancient Egypt (strangely enough, the fact that she was found starving in the deep woods doesn't seem to interfere with her belief that she is a God).
So, any form of worship other than feeding her or attending to her litterbox is........to her--idolatry. She is offended by my straying off to church to worship other gods. But, most of all, she simply finds my faith ludicrous.
"So," she said, "you will read the Sunday paper, watch the sycophantic Snuffleupagus, drink coffee and relax.
"Stephanopoulous. He's a respected television journalist."
Wadena stopped her grooming and gave me the look. "He's a fake-smiling wimp who tries to agree with everybody to keep his job."
"Whatever. Anyhow, I'm not going to church."
"Very wise. That God you worship is dangerously crazy. He loves you. He hates you. He kills you. He brings you back to life. He forgives you. He wants to marry you (really kinky). He seems to have bizarre mood swings. This God is an abusive husband. Had you not noticed that?
"It's not exactly like that," I say.
"Ah, but it's EXACTLY like that. Massacres of children. Talking snakes! Virgin birth and blood-drinking rituals. Saved by works, saved by grace, loved but sent to eternal torture--you don't think all that's crazy?"
"Maybe to a cat."
"Maybe to ANYBODY with an IQ higher than broccoli!" Wadena started licking the other paw and I knew she would now ignore me for a while. She had established my inferiority and gullibility.
She had a point. Christianity seemed so normal until you looked at it from her point of view. All of a sudden it could seem pretty far-fetched. We had discussed it before and I found that I really had no satisfactory answers. All my teachers had always ended such discussions with statements about God moving in mysterious ways.
"That's why you have such severe problems with self-esteem."
"What?"
Wadena looked positively Cheshire-like in her happiness. "You know what I mean. Since you were a baby your religious masters have told you that you are a wretch.....weak, poor, naked, blind and unworthy. You are a poor, miserable sinner......less than nothing without Jesus."
"I don't have a problem with self-esteem," I said.
"HAH!!! You go to church and your masters insult you and call you names......and then you give them money. You could take that money and buy yourself a nice big fish........but you DON'T! Why? Because you're not worth it! You're just a wretch. Better not get your religious masters mad at you......you NEED them. Scum like you would go to Hell otherwise, right?"
"No! And I DON'T have a problem with self-esteem!"
Wadena just sat and grinned at me......Cheshire-happy again.
That reminded me. I looked at my watch. It was time for George Snuffleupagus to come on and flash that big fake grin at everybody and try to stay popular with all viewers.
I turned on the t.v. No doubt watching a snuffling, smiling, sycophant would make me feel better about myself.
posted by Wadena | 9:14 AM
5 Comments:
Hey thanks for visiting my blog. I love the idea that you should instead buy a big fish. That kind of logic works for me!
Anyway, keep in touch and pet the cat.
Only a real god cat would give such self serving advice.
Stephanopolous ok I am tired and will NOT bother to spell that correctly is a twit. Happy New Year.
I searched for a long time before finding your blog. I'm new at this, but it seems to me there are a lot of pretty fluffy blogs out there.....like 100 of them for every blog with some substance.
Then there were a few who went too far in the other direction......like there was this avalanche of fervently righteous sky-is-falling substance that threatened to totally engulf and asphyxiate the reader.
Maybe activists who are still fairly normal and reasonable people are a dying breed.
Is Fox News brainwashing everybody, or what?
We need more anarchist soccer moms.
While I'm thinking about it....I'm going to Google Anarchist Soccer Moms just to see if maybe........
Well let me tell you something: the soccer moms have reason to be angry, with Henny-Penny-Sky-Is-Falling rhetoric because they have children that will grow up to inherit the products of this woeful environmental stewardship. All children in the future will contend with problems not of their making. In my view, thats a crime.
On the other hand, WE are also the problem. Our lifestyles, predicated on consumption and greed.
It goes the other way too- lament the crazy activists, but better the hystrionic rantings than the apathy of people that SHOULD and DO know better.
I don't mind having a fluffy blog because I don't define myself by external 'validations' in real life and I'm not about to start in the blogosphere.
Fluff Bloggery is like Wal Mart-pointless crap and you get what you pay for. And the *real* price is somehow an invisible part of the equation...
In my opinion, the real stories of fluff blogs are people that want to simply be heard, have something out there. Maybe its only 'bar drinks' or "blog about curtains' but there are people behind them, writing. And because I love writing I am tickled by the idea that people are writing, no matter how pointless.
Hmmmmm.....unfortunately, Google turned up no Anarchist Soccer Mom sites.
Oh well.
I noticed your blog because it IS NOT fluffy.
I think fluffy blogs are fine, but I simply don't have time to read them unless they are drop dead funny.
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