I spent yesterday in the suburbs. It was my goddaughter’s confirmation ceremony, a big deal to Catholics. I grew up as Methodist, but I always wanted to be a catholic. Not any more. Not after yesterday’s mass. I almost didn’t make it through. I wanted to run out of there soon after entering the church. I was nursing a hangover. I wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with.
After having to stand up and sit down a number of times, I started to resent the father giving the sermon. He’d smugly lift his hand and everybody would stand up. He’d turn his palm downwards and everybody would sit down. I was thinking he had a little too much power and that he was starting to abuse it. I was suffering. I couldn’t sit still. Half the congregation took communion. It took forever. I was relieved when it was finally over.
“Good mass.” I said afterwards.
“Yes, good mass.” my friend said. 
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