The Church Lady, Part 1

I haven't been going to church, basically since I got married. This is problematic for a few reasons. First of all, I'm not getting any type of spiritual nourishment. Nobody's challenging me or prompting me to think theologically. Secondly, I can't set a good example for Baby in this area if I'm refusing to suck it up myself. Third, I teach Catholic school. I need to be going to church in order to not be a complete hypocrite with my students. Finally, in my opinion, going to church is something God asks of me. Even though I chose a faith full of rules, I feel like God actually asks very little of me: love Him, love others, tell others about Him, and get together regularly with others who also love Him. If I can't give an hour of my time each week to worship God in a public place designated specifically for that activity, then my innate selfishness becomes clear.
So after several years of half-assing it, phoning it in, and making excuses when it comes to church attendance, I've decided to go back. I'm going to take the summer to visit different churches in rural Virginia. After I visit one, I'll try to post a review. I'm hoping this will challenge me to go all the Sundays between now and August. And if I end up accomplishing this goal, once we move permanently, maybe I'll keep up the church thing. One can only hope.
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Today was day one of what I consider to be half spiritual quest, half anthropological observation. I went to church this morning. I started with the closest Catholic church, a church called St. Paul's. It's about five minutes from my parents' house, on a small hill where three country roads come together in a way that truly made me believe I'd die on my way out. St. Paul's doesn't have a parking lot. Congregants apparently park in semi-orderly rows going up the hill. My Honda Civic balanced precariously on the hill and looked like it was going to topple into the ditch while I was inside. From the outside, the church itself looks like it might have once been someone's house. The inside resembles a big living room, but I kind of liked that, especially since the early churches met in people's houses. Several rows of folding chairs were set up for the worshipers' comfort. I tripped over an old lady who'd taken up the aisle seat, then tripped over her again when I had to get up to get a hymnal, then tripped over her a third time as I stumbled back to my seat with said hymnal.
Before Mass started, the lector gave a few announcements. I couldn't really hear what he said because lots of small children were running around making noise. I caught him say the words "If you want to receive Holy Communion," and then give some sort of instruction to do something by the doors, but I didn't really hear what I was supposed to do, so sadly, I skipped what is often, to outsiders, one of the creepier rituals of my faith.
Then Mass itself began. Someone forgot to tell the priest that the 70's ended a long, long time ago and that his mustache/haircut combo is no longer acceptable. He rushed through the parts of the Mass, saying the parts that I'm used to singing, and reminding me of a priest who once told me that they could get through an entire Mass in 14 minutes. This guy was close. He finished in 31.
After the Gospel reading, the priest traditionally gives a homily. Not this guy, at least not right away. He spent several minutes on announcements about a new priest, summer schedules, new Mass times, no coffee and donuts, pretty much everything except the Gospel reading. When he finally did get to his 30 second homily, he talked only about the Gospel, did not connect it to the other readings, and didn't challenge the congregation to do anything other than pray to John the Baptist.
I wasn't impressed, and I can see why my uncle's girlfriend doesn't like this church much. It wasn't even that it sucked, which it did, but it didn't even suck in an interesting way. For me, that's the worst kind of sucking because I can't even leave with a sarcastic or cynical thought in my mind. Maybe next week's Methodist church will come through for me.