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As we exit, arguably, the holiest days of the year, it’s a wonderful time to reflect. To reflect on the blessings we have, the friendships we’ve made, and the obstacles we’ve overcome. The birds are chirping, the flowers are blooming, and all of our Catholic friends are using this joyous springtime as yet another excuse to make us feel like shit.
Now, I grew up Presbyterian, which is one of the lesser aggressive forms of Christianity. Like, they play funky music sometimes and occasionally have danishes after. For the most part, however, the foundations were the same. I had my first communion, I went to Sunday school every week until like, 9th grade, and I knew all of the religious meanings behind the holidays Americans use as an excuse to get different shaped Reese’s (seriously though, the eggs are the best. Pumped for these after-Easter sales). And while I don’t mean to poke fun at my Catholic friends, after getting drunk with one last weekend and going over every bullshit thing she’s ever said to me, I think it’s time to turn the tables. As the great John Mulaney says, “For those of you that aren’t Catholic, I don’t mean to exclude you, even though we love to exclude you.”
I’m Not Baptized
Now, when I was born, my mother and father, who both grew up Catholic, decided that they wanted to do something a little different. They decided that if, when I was older, I wanted to be baptized, that should be my choice. My decision. My own declaration of my relationship with God. Naturally, I never did it. Sure, I went through a youth group phase in middle school/early high school, but that was more as a place to flirt with boys than anything.
Still, after getting into a discussion with my friends, I was told that that was just about the worst thing my parents could have ever done for me. You see, if I died as a baby, that would have been it. God wouldn’t have been like, “this little creature can’t even go a few hours without shitting herself, I’ll just let her come hang in heaven with me,” apparently he would have been like, “to hell, you annoying little monster.” Or at least, to Limbo. So, naturally, my friends all have to chug a shitton of holy water before hanging out with me. Good thing I’m worth it. *hair flip*
I Don’t Get To Confess, So I Have To Be An Actual Good Person
As my friends describe it, they can “do anything, and as long as they confess, they’re fine.” Which is totally what I imagine that whole idea was created for. Still, the only hope I have of at least getting into Limbo (at best), is to be an actual good person. Which, I’m sure everyone can agree, is not looking too promising for me.
So, I’m Going To Hell, Obviously
I mean, between the not going to confession, not being baptized, not “actually” taking communion (because I guess in my church, I was just eating some bread, but in Catholic mass it actually turns into a body and blood, which is some Harry Potter ass shit if I’ve ever heard of it), there’s like a 0.0001% chance that there’s not a one-way ticket to hell with my name on it.
Or At Least Limbo
Again, again, I realize this is an outdated concept that was actually only really used in reference to babies until Dante made it into a bigger thing, but STILL. If it was between hell and limbo, I’d like to think I’d get the painfully normal in-between place. I’d just sit in this fenced-in area with a camping chair, some saltines, and a jug of lukewarm water and watch all of the fun shit happening in heaven. BUT if I turned my chair around (why would I?), I could see all of the shit going down in hell, and at least be like, “Thank God that’s not me. Wait. Fuck. I just said “God.” Does that count as using the Lord’s name in vain? Shit. Sorry, God! Can I come in now?”
I Did Communion At My Grandpa’s Funeral
So, like. Okay. Maybe this one was bad. But my grandparents are Catholic (because, of course, they are), and at my grandpa’s funeral (complete with a full mass), I was the only grandchild who couldn’t “technically” take communion. So, I sat there and thought about whether or not my grandpa would have cared if I tried something I had never done before, and I figured he wouldn’t. So, I got in line, drank from the germ-filled cup, and got my wafer snack. Was it wrong of me? Maybe. But also, the cracker wasn’t even that good so…
And I Was Maid Of Honor In My Best Friend’s Catholic Wedding
Again, this was something that I guess isn’t totally kosher in the Catholic church. A week before my best friend’s wedding, she sent me an urgent text saying that I needed to pretend to be Catholic because I guess the head people have to be “of faith” to have the ceremony in the church. You know, my Catholic friend told me to lie about being Catholic during one of the holiest Catholic ceremonies. It’s not even my fault I’m going to hell at this point.
The Ashes, The Rosaries, And The Crucifixes
Ash Wednesday? You bet your ass all of my friends head into church just so they can Snapchat the ashes on their foreheads. And you can spot rosaries hanging from all of their rearview mirrors. Plus, it’s an absolute fact that all of them, male and female, have crucifix necklaces that their grandmothers gave them. It literally means nothing to basically all of my friends other than a point of pride, like wearing Greek letters or a Members Only jacket. Still, being born on the inside of the club seems to be something they’re all hella pleased with themselves for.
Their Religion Is “Super Old”
Again, I’m not sure if my friends realize that other forms of Christianity are the same “religion” (and like, Judaism is way older) but at this point, I’ve given up arguing. None of them can tell me how old, exactly their religion is, but they assure me, it’s old.
They Have Beautiful Churches
Granted, Catholic churches are among the most gorgeous structures in the world. When you go to Europe (someplace I’ve been once, but like to act like I’m totally seasoned), you could spend your entire trip quietly walking into cathedrals, muttering an Owen Wilson-esk “wow” to yourself before walking out and doing it again and again and again. When I tried to tell my friend that other Christians have churches too, she said, “You practice religion in a Superdome or something.” So, you know. There’s that.
Again With The Hell Thing
But if we’re being honest? This isn’t like, thaaaaat much of a surprise to me. Between the sex out of wedlock, living with a boyfriend, and taking the Lord’s name in vain every GD day, I booked my ticket a long time ago.
Honestly? They’re Just Better Than I Am
What it all comes down to is this: It doesn’t matter that my friends don’t really practice their religion. It doesn’t matter that the same friend who told me I’m the devil for taking communion at my grandpa’s funeral isn’t having a Catholic wedding because “it’s too long.” Hell, it doesn’t even matter that they haven’t been to mass in years but lie to their parents about it. Because at the end of the day the truth is, I’m not as good as my Catholic friends, and for that, I absolutely have my devil-loving parents to blame. Sure, I think saying that breaks one of The Ten Commandments but at this point, does it even matter?.