Who Sucked Out the Feeling

I come from a family that claims to be religious, yet aside from weddings, funerals and the obligatory holiday service here and there I can't remember any of them ever going to church. I personally haven’t been to church in at least 15 years, save the aforementioned scenarios. My family is predominately "Catholic" so this morning I woke hours before I would on any other Sunday morning in order to make the 9:30 a.m. mass at St. Mark Catholic Church.

As I made my way down Eastwood Road, mind, body and soul barely intact from Saturday night's escapades, I fumbled for the ability to keep an open mind about my impending religious experience. But to be honest, I was most excited about the fact that the Catholic mass usually runs a curt 45 minutes and I'd be home in plenty of time for the 1 p.m. slate of football games. I pulled into the parking lot around 9:15, immediately impressed by the sprawling compound that was St Mark's. It didn’t have the historic beauty I've come to expect from most churches I've seen, but it was impressive nonetheless. Whatever beauty the church lacked externally it made up for on the inside. Admiring the architecture could occupy me for the duration if nothing else.

I wish I could say the same for the people. Almost no one looked happy to be there. It was as if they had dragged themselves there strictly out of habit, kind of like going to the dentist. However, the collective morbid demeanor went hand in hand with the ensuing rituals. Not even the power of song was able to permeate the stoic aura that plagued this church. I was under the impression that church was about community and a celebration of faith. This whole process seemed to be more closely related to a funeral march. The pot-bellied gentlemen to my left sang like a monotone ventriloquist, still managing to break a sweat despite his sloth-like movement. Maybe he had the same idea I did for choosing the cheap seats, maybe he was just there getting the job done in anonymity. What ever his reasons I only hope he prayed for a pair of pants that would touch his shoes. As I sat in the most desolate corner of the church I could find, which was far from desolate in a parish filled to the gills with patrons, I felt the overwhelming urge to burst into a song of my own. During periods of stark silence I envisioned myself belting out the late 90's rock anthem "Who Sucked Out the Feeling?" by Superdrag.

Every archaic ritual, though painfully monotonous, was carried out with surgical precision. Call and response...Stand, sit, kneel, stand...Head down, head up...eyes closed, open...All of this subordinate behavior and not once shred of sincerity. I couldn't help but wonder if the guy hanging so selflessly from a cross over the altar would see through this charade. See you at the next wedding or funeral, I think that’s all I can take.