There’s no greater time to show
your token devotion to a higher power than Christmas. Whether it be via
attending some kind of religious service during the month of December or
angrily calling upon God to damn people who take your parking spot, the Lord
and his or her mysterious powers of spontaneous baby-making are often invoked
as the calendar creeps closer and closer to the dreaded number 25. The
Methodists did NOT disappoint in providing appropriate hoopla for our viewing
pleasure during the Christmas season.
Increased
numbers in the fold:
Not only did Voltron and I notice an uptick in warm bodies sitting in the stiff
wooden pews (an extra 10 human Christians a week, I’d say, each bedecked in
garish reds and reindeer patterned vests etc), but we were blessed with the brief
return of a former lapsed choir member. While Uncle Fester only showed up for
one day—a Sunday, I might add, which means that she inexpertly took part in the
performance of an anthem that she’d never set eyes on before, no big—her ephemeral
vocal presence was a thoughtful, helpful, and responsible addition to our Yuletide
warbles.
Big
Geezy’s Attire:
Homegirl ROCKED a shiny plastic golden jacket throughout the majority of
December. We were rehearsing in the sanctuary one night in preparation for our
X-mas spectaculaire, and due to some really graphic plumbing issues of J.
Arbuckle’s that we heard in detail but that I will not repeat here, he and
Geezy were running super late. (J. Arbuckle picks her up for Wednesday night
rehearsal to avoid Geezy let loose on the roads of Burlington in the pitch
black.) The Oracle insisted that Voltron start us up sans Arbuckle, so we were
slogging our way through some piece when Geezy made her grand entrance into the
sanctuary, the bright lights bouncing off her Elvis Pressley-like overcoat,
creating a blinding beacon out of her entire body. Apparently moved by our
strained crooning, she parked herself in front of the group and majestically
simulated the arm swings of a choir director, and for a moment, we miraculously
allowed ourselves to be directed by a squat, glowing Elvis impersonator.
Christmas magic.
Explaining
Dirty Santa to people who are a million years old: In preparation
for our Christmas choir gathering, J. Arbuckle proposed that, in addition to
bringing cheddar cheese, bacon bits, and sour cream for our ultra-nutritious
baked potato feast, we also bring a gift for “Dirty Santa.” Upon speaking these
words, there were gasps of shock and looks of fear and scandal on the faces of
our humble choir. “DIRTY?” Eddie
Munster lamented. “I do not laik
thayut.” J. Arbuckle backpeddled, “No! No, it doesn’t have to be inappropriate
gifts. They can be legitimate presents.” The frowns and furrowed brows
remained. “Well, whai do we need to give giyufts at awl?” These types of
concerns were vocalized with J. Arbuckle assuring that it was just an idea and
that we could simply choose not to do it. But some sense of Southern, Christian
propriety meant that we had to passive-aggressively participate in whatever one
person wanted to with all manner of sighs, rude looks, and undermining questions. “Well, how expensive are these giyufts?” J.
Arubuckle paused, clearly searching his brain for the answer that would offend
the least. Tentatively, he offered, “Errrrr….teeeeennnnnnnnnn dollars?” Again
with the gasps. “TEN?!” We negotiated
down to 5 before the new line of questioning began. “Ayund do girls bring
giyufts for girls and boys for boys?” J. Arbuckle was totally thrown by this
bizarre question. “What?” Much confused talk finally cleared up the bruhaha and
made sure that everyone understood that the gifts should not be gender specific
and should be 5 dollars and under. We finally moved the conversation toward the
evening’s musical selections when Jabba interrupted, “Wait a minit,” he
bellowed. “So do I bring a MALE gift?” J. Arbuckle then reenacted the scene
below:
before reexplaining everything.
“AH, so I get a NEUTER gift. Got
it.”
Bizarro
Children’s Moment presentations
Children’s moment is a time
during the Sunday service during which all of the people under the age of 18
parade down to the front of the church, sit on the carpeted steps, and get
talked down to about how to be a good person. A different church member takes
on the responsibility of making a boring pedantic babyish speech every week.
The week before Christmas, the church’s 5 youths had the pleasure of being
lectured by Nose Hair, the ancient husband of Frau Blucher.
One never knows what to expect from
these children’s moments as they usually have some kind of boring gimmick. This
time, the opening gimmicky question to the handful of children was “Do you ever
get bored?” delivered by Nose Hair as he paced back and forth holding a
mid-sized brown paper bag. There was a pause during which these poor souls looked
at one another as if to silently ask, “Is this the? What? I mean, do we just
say yes?” Eventually, one brave acolyte answered, “Yes?”
“Whadda you do when you’re bored?”
Almost simultaneously they
responded, “Watch T.V.”
“Well, when I get bored around the holidays, I play with…. FROSTY.” He opened his paper bag and pulled out a stuffed
snowman, and upon squeezing its middle, a tinny electronic holiday melody eeked
sadly out of the yellowed toy. At first we all laughed, but our laughter
quickly fell silent as Nose Hair held up his hand mike to Frosty’s throat in
attempt to amplify these songs then stared, un-moving, at these children. We
were all silently wishing for a swift end to the tune, and exhaled relieved at
its conclusion. “Idn’t that nice? But wait! There’s more!” He gave Frosty an additional
squeeze and resumed his frightening, wide-eyed, staring position, holding the
children and the church captive to this musical terror. Somehow he managed to
tie this concept of relieving childhood boredom via stuffed knickknacks to relieving
the ancient shepherds’ job-related boredom by being alerted to the Messiah’s
birth and having to find him in a stable. I’m still a little confused by the
take-home message.
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