Church, for me

I wouldn’t describe myself as an atheist, only because the people who describe themselves as atheists tend to be pretty annoying. By classical definitions though, I am an atheist.

But something about the practice of worshipping a higher power in a room with a bunch of people who are feeling more or less the same as you in that moment, feels important. We evolved sitting around a fire in a dank cave, with someone telling a mystical story about the power of the sun god. There’s something there.

A small and dirty venue is my church. Strolling into church I take a shot of cheap whiskey and sip a Budweiser (tm). The crowd nervously mills about while the the first band delivers their sermon. They start to tune in their connection to subjective experience. The room is dark and damp, I take another shot of whiskey and another beer. The bartender is cute and smiles at me, I tip her adequately for it. I step outside to smoke a cigarette, beer in my jacket pocket. The other parishioners are dressed in black and chatting about boys, girls. Take a drag.

Back inside the opener is feeling it now, and the crowd is just starting to feel it too. They sway and step, still aware of themselves. The prayer closes with reverence for the next priest, the one you’re all here to see. The band loves them, and you’ll love them too.

Minutes pass. The priest steps out. Their connection with the spirit is palpable. Wild-eyed, he wastes no time. His sermon is abrupt. The pit opens up. The pious in the crowd throw themselves to it. There is no ego in the pit. Harm to corporeal bodies is a small price for a taste of the collective spirit. Sweat passes from body to body, the momentum of a push is transferred to another. Aggression is swiftly punished. Those who fall are lifted up by an anonymous stranger. Ears are ringing. The floor is slippery with sweat and spilt beer. It’s an explosion, it’s Saturday night and we finally feel alive.