The preacher surveyed his flock.
mouth breathers, he thought to himself.
He had a bad habit of insulting the congregation in his head during worship.
It was his only secret sin, and he confessed it each time he caught himself... which was (as he discovered one morning during his quiet meditation) a seemingly non-stop sub-conscious habit.
Indeed, after 30 years of leading a church full of (whom he privately judged to be) some of the worst examples of the faith, Mike had (without any conscious effort on his own) evolved a particularly nasty skill for insulted those to whom he ministered.
The praise team droned on.
gee Tammy, your dress isn't cut low enough, i can't quite see the top of your...
Mike physically shook his head, and the vicious, whiny-sounding version of his own voice fell away momentarily. He reached for the bulletin.
what song are we on... awesome god?... the last song... yes, the one fatty patty sings on...
Mike closed his eyes and laid the back of his head against the cool, sweet-smelling chair. Fake ferns flanked his left and right. On stage before him was a young female member of the choir, Erin. She sang to a backing track; airy, contemporary christian that made Mike cringe. Mike loved music, which is why he hated this stuff.
"Jesus, ooohhh w-oah... Jesus, ooohhh w-oah..." sang the young mother of two.
Mike couldn't stand the way Erin enunciated the "w" sound as she sang the final chorus. The congregation stood up closed their eyes, and mimic-ed Erin's own hand motions, and their arms swayed like tree limbs in the wind.
Someone shouted "Amen!"
Mike closed his eyes as well, and bowed his head as if in prayer. Another Sunday, he thought to himself. His mantra. He knew he could just sit there, still, for at least the next 10 minutes until the weekly deacon finished his offertory prayer. Lately it seemed the deacons had been engaged in a contest for the most exaggerated, ridiculous diatribe during an Offertory Prayer. He had heard more than one man break into fits of sobbing. The young ones were the worst. Today it was Paul. He kept one ear open for "and the power, and the glory, forever and ever..." because that was Paul's signature phrase signalling a final rotation pattern before maneuvering into descent ready position.
As Paul began the first few warm-up stanzas, the organist played "Have Thine Own Way, Lord" softly in the background.
Mike concentrated on the music as the deacons passed around the shiny offering plates. He heard the sound of loose change as it bounced off the felt green bottom sporadically around the congregation.
mouth breathers, he thought to himself.
He had a bad habit of insulting the congregation in his head during worship.
It was his only secret sin, and he confessed it each time he caught himself... which was (as he discovered one morning during his quiet meditation) a seemingly non-stop sub-conscious habit.
Indeed, after 30 years of leading a church full of (whom he privately judged to be) some of the worst examples of the faith, Mike had (without any conscious effort on his own) evolved a particularly nasty skill for insulted those to whom he ministered.
The praise team droned on.
gee Tammy, your dress isn't cut low enough, i can't quite see the top of your...
Mike physically shook his head, and the vicious, whiny-sounding version of his own voice fell away momentarily. He reached for the bulletin.
what song are we on... awesome god?... the last song... yes, the one fatty patty sings on...
Mike closed his eyes and laid the back of his head against the cool, sweet-smelling chair. Fake ferns flanked his left and right. On stage before him was a young female member of the choir, Erin. She sang to a backing track; airy, contemporary christian that made Mike cringe. Mike loved music, which is why he hated this stuff.
"Jesus, ooohhh w-oah... Jesus, ooohhh w-oah..." sang the young mother of two.
Mike couldn't stand the way Erin enunciated the "w" sound as she sang the final chorus. The congregation stood up closed their eyes, and mimic-ed Erin's own hand motions, and their arms swayed like tree limbs in the wind.
Someone shouted "Amen!"
Mike closed his eyes as well, and bowed his head as if in prayer. Another Sunday, he thought to himself. His mantra. He knew he could just sit there, still, for at least the next 10 minutes until the weekly deacon finished his offertory prayer. Lately it seemed the deacons had been engaged in a contest for the most exaggerated, ridiculous diatribe during an Offertory Prayer. He had heard more than one man break into fits of sobbing. The young ones were the worst. Today it was Paul. He kept one ear open for "and the power, and the glory, forever and ever..." because that was Paul's signature phrase signalling a final rotation pattern before maneuvering into descent ready position.
As Paul began the first few warm-up stanzas, the organist played "Have Thine Own Way, Lord" softly in the background.
Mike concentrated on the music as the deacons passed around the shiny offering plates. He heard the sound of loose change as it bounced off the felt green bottom sporadically around the congregation.
