Much to my surprise and chagrin, there were no lightning bolts, no burning bushes, no bloody tears from the statuary. It was pretty basic, all things considered. It was a Lutheran church, after all. You know, Martin Luther? It's like Catholicism-lite: lackadaisical, passive-agressive guilt and judgment instead of that obvious burn-in-hell shit down at St. Michael's.[Text Message Rec'd in Response] Thats already fucking hilarious. Thru him, with him, in him, in the unity of rupert murdoch, all infotainment is your almighty satan forever and ever . . .
Anyway...
I went because my nephews sang as part of the service. My sister-in-law is religious and had the boys in Vacation Brainwash, err... Bible School last week. Today was the first official service of this new church and the recital was part of the dedication.
Along for the ride were my mother, my brother and his wife, their daughter, my sister-in-law, the boys, and my other niece. I am not completely removed from all of this. I know the words and sang along to Amazing Grace, I recited the Lord's Prayer from memory, and I know how to be quiet, be respectful, and interpret most of the lessons into plain English for everyday application.
But if it was that simple, that benign, I probably wouldn't be discussing this with you.
My long-standing aversion to organized religion has never been the lessons. Today's experience - in and of itself - was not bad. It was not a thumper service, it was not over the top, nor was it was a situation in which a certain belief or system of beliefs was being force-fed to me. Like I said, it was a Lutheran church. Let's face it, aside from the balls it took for ole Martin to nail the note on the door to the church, the Lutheran faith isn't exactly known for it's fiery, flashy services.
"I think everyone should treat one another in a Christian manner. I will not, however, be responsible for the consequences." - George Carlin
Today's issue is represented by the title quote [thanks, Boris, you are my hero] and the one directly above this line.
You see, my sister-in-law (hereinafter SIL, for my convenience) moved into my mom's house two months ago with her three kids. My brother remains on the East Coast to work and fix up their house so they can sell it and all live here. He pretends that the rest of us actually believe that he has convinced his bosses he can work from the Left Coast to service networking and security clients that include the Pentagon and satellite offices in Virginia and the Carolinas.
In reality, my brother has the house to himself, 3000 miles away from the parental or spousal responsibilities of most fathers and husbands. To be fair, he doesn't really subscribe to them anyway, but this way he isn't reminded of that fact on a daily basis. My SIL has found a built-in-babysitter and financier in my mother, a compatriot in my lazier-than-fuck younger sister and, in me, a reminder of what she cannot be, cannot feel and cannot have... in other words, I have become the designated asshole.
Why is any of that important? When my father died, he died knowing that I would not let my mother live alone, not for a while anyway. My younger brother and I were both in the house, both of us working like dogs, and between us we had days and nights with Mom covered. I don't want to always live with my mother, but it was a situation that has worked for us. I save money while I work my ass off and go to school. My SIL and the kids moved in to "help out Mom" and have done nothing but age her, spend her money, and trash an already shitty outlook cultivated over 30+ years of depression; it's sort of an awesome feat when you think about it. Since we were all here together, so many sardines in a can, I decided to do something nice for my SIL and her boys. I had to do a paper on local history and I know my nephews love dinosaurs and such. I killed two birds with one stone and took them on my little field trip.
There is a point, keep reading.
A few weeks ago, I took my nephews to the Natural History Museum. I made fish faces at the sharks, climbed on tree exhibits, crawled on the floor to avoid the very large mechanical T-Rex, used black lights to force a scorpion out of his hiding place so we could witness the natural glow of its exoskeleton, and repeatedly hit the buttons on the rain forest display so I could be the cool Auntie who makes it rain indoors. We left no wing unvisited... including the lobe-fin fish and the Early Man displays. The boys asked me all kinds of questions about these two exhibits, so I read as much as I could and shared it with them. We spent hours beyond what I would have spent on my own. We spent money, ruined clothes, a generally had the run of the place.
When we got home, the boys went off to report on the day to their mother. I was excited to hear them excited as they exited the room to go and find her. Not five minutes went by and my youngest nephew came in to tell me that the fish did not evolve and that Man did not evolve. God made us from dirt, he said, and so therefore I was wrong and why did I tell him stories? The boys who know more about the fallacies of the Jurassic Park movies than most paleontologists went on to push, press, and beat a dead horse about God and Man. My SIL didn't look at me for the rest of the weekend and actually avoided eating at the dinner table that night. The boys, however, carefully coached, kept making comments at the table until my brother shut them up. The intended slight did not go unnoticed; the holier-than-thou attitude was not appreciated.
And I didn't swallow any of it. She wanted to make a scene, and I wouldn't give her one. Unfortunately, that just made it worse.
Fast forward to today. Off we go to Church.
The sermon was about forgiveness, acceptance, and generally getting along with those in our lives; confrontation is healthy to a point, but grudges, miscommunication (or complete lack of communication) were silly. We're all on this planet for a short time and we need to learn to work with our family, our neighbors, and our friends if we expect to get through it and remain sane. We were told to remember that we all have different outlooks, even beliefs!, and that we needed to simply be human and humane. All the while, my SIL is nodding and praying and praising the pastor... and ignoring any advance made from me to be helpful, pass the plate, hand her a hymnal, etc. She kept it going afterwards as well. She introduced the entire family but me to the pastor. Mom wanted to take everyone to lunch, so my SIL - who was driving the car - decided that she wanted no part of it when I suggested Mom's favorite place. She drove us all home, against my mother's repeated requests, so she could play martyr. In the end, Mom went to bed, my SIL and the kids went swimming, and my brother and his family met me for lunch so we could continue to enjoy the day.
I have no problem with her wanting to teach her kids a certain way... but here's where all the hypocrisy comes in (if you haven't picked up on some of it yet): she openly bashes my brother, her husband, in front of her children; she gives nothing to my mother's household and yet she and her kids are the single biggest expense; she tells people to let her raise her own kids when we try to teach manners but pawns her kids off on anyone that will take them (until they cry, then she is mommy and the saving grace); she preaches - subtly, of course - and then finds any reason not to take the kids to church most weekends; she is judgmental, she is lazy, she spends and covets and has nothing to show for it or contribute, she is your best friend when it behooves her and your worst enemy behind your back. She is a master at interpersonal subterfuge.
Ugh, this train got off track a bit. And yet, I don't want to edit it. I will come back at some point and clear it up a bit more. Let's face it, this chapter is just beginning.
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