Just a good’ole fashioned Sunday

5 mins away from my house resides a large church titled: Neerg Serca. This said, I decided to wake up early today and prepared myself for a wonderful morning of worship and thanksgiving to God for having lived this long in Tyminia.
Because I am the only one in my building that actually goes to church (to my knowledge), I go alone, in the hopes that I will find some kindred spirits along the way. So after having walked all around creation to find the actual worship center, I finally parade through the doors entering into the worship service which is already in session (being led by 3 of the oldest members of the church, and their back up choir of like 100 old folks, singing at the top of their lungs in yellowyish puke colored gowns). Awkward as it is, Erika is unaware that there is obvious segregation of some nature amongst it’s members, in which all black people are sitting to one side of the church and all white people are on the other side of the church. However, I do not notice this until I am already well situation next to a group of African American families. One can imagine that by this time my mind is racing, trying to reevaluate which time period we’re all living in… So I am hoping and praying desperately that Tyminia is not lost in the 50’s somewhere.
After noticing my “mistake” I suddenly realize that there is a group of white folk looking at me and whispering… I smile and look forward, as the pale white worship leader is about to keel over from an unreachable music note. Desperately looking for a soul over the age of 40, I am disappointed to find a group of youth looking at their nails and twiddling their thumbs in the very front seat (sitting there out of obligation). I start to fidget, as a rollypolly white man gets on stage to introduce the churches black guest speaker… a visiting minister. I start to get excited, after all, even if the worship was disappointing because I felt like I was on a mustard farm in the 60’s (due to the choice of music, instruments and choir coloring) I would at least be able to take a breath of fresh air from the pastors teachings.
` I quiet my spirit and as he walks up to the poppet (I this point, I am glad that this congregation has allowed a black minister to be in their presence)… Suddenly …right after the first cricket chirped and the irritated baby wailed… like a thunder bolt from the sky, the Pastor starts to shout: “I WANT TO THANK ALL OF MY BROTHERS (tone of voice very high) AND SISTERS (tone of voice very low) FOR LETTING ME ENTER ( tone of voice very high) UNDER YOUR ROOF (tone of voice very low), (pause!) AND I WANT TO THANK MY SUPPORTERS (voice booming) WHO HAVE TRAVELED WITH ME TO THIS CHURCH (voice very very low)… (PAUSE) AND I WANT TO THANK OUR GREAT CONGRESS MAN (shouting tones)…BECAUSE NOT LONG AGO I WAS ABLE TO SIT WITH HIM (voice very low) (pause) AND OUR MOST TRUSTED NEW ELECT PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA (VOICE BOOMING)!!!......” As if he had just opened the flood gates of heaven, all the people, on my side of the church, rose up, clapping and shouting and wailing and dancing. Wide-eyed and mouth opened, I merely sat in the most upright of positions, trying desperately to find the power to be teleported to another world. As the Pastor’s voice continued to BOOM, and fluctuate from one tone to the other, the only thing I could think of was that beloved childhood movie, “Polly Anna”: “DEATH COMES UNEXPECTEDLY!!!!” – Gah !