Pick Your Future

It's part of the unwritten rule of the faithful that there are specific times during a church service where your attention is appreciated, but not required. Yes, you listen to the sermon, yes, you sing the songs but when everyone is filing through for communion, it's OK to let your mind wander.

Which brings us to Sunday's service. The way our communion works, the front rows go first, and everyone behind moves up as the line progresses. It's a simple that can be done without firing one synapse or utilizing one brain cell. It's clockwork, but someone forgot to tell the gentlemen in the Blue Blockers.

I'll back up. For a couple weeks I've been watching this older gent who attends our service regularly. He's always clad in Blue Blocker sun glasses (medical? style choice? only he knows for sure), is about 6-foot, probably pushing 80, stocky and never seems to enjoy the fact that he's attending church. In fact his disdain is palpable, so I started to watch him. Today, the pastor issued the communion prayer and Mr. BB started digging for green gold. Hard. He was like Bruce Willis in Armageddon, he was drilling so hard. John Holms had nothing on this guy (over the line? Sure was!). Then he wipes it underneath the pew.

Then, communion. Everyone in his row gets up, and he only starts to get up once it's his turn. He doesn't anticipate, he waits for the clockwork to get to him, and then he starts the long, laborious task of getting to his feet and out of the pew. The whole ordeal took probably 45 seconds, but 45 seconds can significantly screw up the machinery of communion. And it did. The line to the right, where Mr. BB was holding up the line, shriveled while the left line flourished. When all was said and done, his 45 second obstinance added that time onto the communion ritual. Yes, it's small, but there's no denying the middle finger with a booger on it that he was waving at everyone.

The reason I bring up Mr. BB at all is it makes you wonder what sort of old person you'll turn into, presuming you make it that far. There are times I feel that life has broken me down a bit, but I can't imagine a life where such odd little defiances are necessary to feel empowered. Was this, really, the only place and time Mr. BB could make a man out of himself - by holding up the line and smearing God's house in his own crusty snot juice (over the line yet again!!!).

Or, the possibility exists that he said "screw it" to life a long time ago and lives his life as a third grader in an old man's body. You have to admit, the ideal if not the execution has a certain appeal.

I hope when I'm old dignity will have come my way in a small measure, but I somehow doubt it. I'm not a person with whom dignity gets along. I'm much more disaster prone than to think one day people will take me seriously because I'm old, accomplished or not. But I sincerely doubt you'll catch me holding up the line for the blood of Jesus.