Superbowl Sunday

It's the truest of American religious holidays. It's the anti-Easter, the one Sunday when the fewest people show up in the Christian churches.

I, personally, will be worshipping at the 1080i of my choice, where we will all partake in the communal Bowl's Supper, down communion wafers till we puke, and slam ... well, I have to admit it's mostly going to be coffee and juice. It's my one complaint about Superbowl Sunday: I have to be sober enough to drive home. Puts rather a damper on what otherwise could be a lively fourth quarter.

Anyway, even the football atheists lurk around the edges, peering in through the window, as it were, if for no other reason than to try from time to time to make sense of the mysteries. There we rise and sit and even kneel with the rhythmic regularity of Catholics. There we push aside all worldly concerns with the rigor of a Calvinist. There we strive to become one with the game, interpreting the signs, arguing fruitlessly with the high priests. If only miracles had instant replay and reviews ordered from the booth in the last two minutes.

In the end, some are saved while others are damned, and truly there's no sense in the fate of either. And, truly, Monday comes around and we're all still here and life goes on.

Still smilin'

God Bless America, and then call it a day

You hear it everywhere. It's on bumper stickers. It's in presidential inaugurations. It gets spoken like a cheer: Go, Yankees! God Bless America! Yay!

I got a question, here.

Shouldn't He have done it by now?

I mean, why we gotta keep askin'?

I mean, we ask God: hey, bless America. Then God does it. End of story, right?

You'd think.

Many claim God has already done it. America is so blessed, they say.

Fine and dandy! Maybe we should all give ol' God a break. You figure he gets irritated, we keep askin' him to do what he already done did?

See, it makes sense to have God bless a meal. The food gets blessed and then you eat it and then it's gone. New meal, new blessing.

When we ask God to bless a marriage, we don't have to keep asking for that one, do we? No! One and done. Makes sense. Now, blessing a sneeze, that makes no sense at all, but the religious can have a gimme on that.

Blessing the country, though ... I'm sorry, I have to call that one out. My favorites are the bumper stickers and the stitched wall plaques and the like. These are permanent appeals. It's like a little kid: Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.... Sheesh, give it a rest.

The only thing I can figure is that God blessings are a sort of lottery. You can't win unless you play. So, everybody keeps asking God to bless the USA, and maybe somebody gets lucky and the blessing takes. And all those people who say the country is already blessed are just blowing smoke.

I dunno. Sometimes, these religious types are just plain loopy.

-= Skip =-
still smilin'

God-free for 45 years

I declared when I was twelve, and it still feels fine.

Told my parents: I'm an atheist. To which my father replied "no you're not" and that was the end of that discussion. I couldn't figure out how I could not be something I was. Being an atheist is as much a spiritual leap (if there were such a thing) as being any flavor of religious convert. It's not an opinion; it's a predicate of existence.

It was more, or perhaps less, than that as well. It was more a recognition that the whole business of religion was a song, and I was tone-deaf. I simply couldn't catch the rhythm, couldn't carry the melody. I couldn't even hear the choir. Some years later, I was told that all I had to do was "open my heart" as the phrase went, and God would enter. I gave that a try, as best I could. Felt bloody silly. Felt, indeed, like I was talking to the floor having to pretend it would suddenly make fried eggs. I soon stopped trying to please the people around my by playing their reindeer games.

So, merrily I roll along.

Still smilin'