Church, babies and family

The alarm went off at 7am. But unlike a work day, this enforced breach of sleep was on a Sunday. To confuse my brain even more, I was putting on a shirt and trousers, the same attire for the weekday. I was going to church for the first time in ten years. Somehow the office seemed like a day out at the seaside in comparison.

The drive to the church led to the evitable, my dad trying to pretend he was racing cars around like he did in New Zealand fifty years ago. It’s just this time he was trying to race his son. In my favour, a faster car and the actual ability to actually see the road. In his favour? Well, I had my mother sitting next to me who had the mental ability to control the speed of my car with clinch of a fist. For someone who has never driven before, she could either clench or retract her fist like a person squeezing the brake with her foot. It could have been the unfortunate series of near fatal car accidents she had experienced when she was younger, but probably, and most likely, it was the delicately balanced assortment of cakes that she had made the night before that were swaying in the boot that probably gave her most cause for alarm.

Stepping into church brought back memories of the enforced hours I had clocked up in my younger years. In this foreign, small and half empty church, the pastor and her associates were dressed in some cult like attire. It could have been from a movie set. As I sat in position, I looked down. It really could have been a horror movie. Three paper booklets. There were at least ten hymns, three readings, five prayers and something else down there. This was going to be tough.

“And remember, next week is a book collection, we are raising money for the church mini bus to have it tyres repaired”. That was the problem. Maybe if I was actually local, I maybe concerned that John and Mary are getting married next week, or the fundraising for he new roof extension was going well. But I wasn’t. and I didn’t.

As we stood to sing hymn number three from page two of the yellow, hand made, just learnt how to use a computer and using a silly font booklet, I realized, not only that I cannot sing, I didn’t really want to. This was against the glare of the robed person singing in front, looking at the congregation. Maybe it was the fact that hymns, were, and still are, just dull. Where was that instrumental? That bit of bass? That catchy chorus? Well at least it did have a chorus. The only good thing about the chorus was the fact that every time it was repeated, you knew you were getting nearer to the end.

“Now, would you turn and face the person opposite and shake their hand, get to know your fellow neighbour”. Great. I tried to think positive, turning it into a speed dating exercise. The only problem was that the person next to me was over ninety, without her own teeth and with a questionable fashion sense. I guess we all have to start somewhere.

Somehow I made it through without incident. Well nearly. “And will those of you who want to come up and take the wine and bread, please step forward”. I turned to my left and said “You know, there is no such thing as a free lunch”. Unfortunately I forgot churches tend to be quite quiet. As I walked towards the exit, thinking of my sarcastic error, I was stopped by security. Apparently you shouldn’t keep the paper hymn book. They are reused every week you know.