Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Jesus Junkie Part Two
After the service had concluded, all the members of the congregation flocked to the entrance of the church, where they engaged each other in their novel, and noble Christian rhetoric, making plans about upcoming outreach projects, and exchange the latest gossip about who was sinning and who was just a plain old whore.
The sign posted on the entrance to the church read:
THE SANCUAREY OF THIS CHURCH WELCOMES ALL: STONERS; PROSITUTES; ADDICTS; RAPISTS; TWEAKERS; HOMOSEXUALLS; ALCOHOLICS; HORDERS; THIEFS; JUNKIES; WIFE-BEATERS; GANG MEMBERS; WORKAHOLICS; RACISTS; SKIN-HEADS; MURDERORS; HATERS; AND ALL OTHER LOST SHEEP
Timmy took notice to this sign, and felt it a little strange that a church need to advertise fundamental truths and core values that were taught by Jesus (love thy neighbor) in such a derogatory way...or perhaps the church had gone a little out of its way to prove that it was indeed a church, and no longer an amateur wrestling arena, as it had indeed been only 16 months prior. It was right at this moment that Timmy was pondering the life style of Jesus Christ, who was never married, traveled around with 12 different men, and one of these men was referred to as “The man Jesus loved more then anyone else” when his attention was diverted back to the “flock”.
Michael and Chris were not just members of the congregation, but were also “Brothers in Christ” with Timmy, as that was the solemn oath taken every night before Michael’s bed time while they all joined hands in a circle, and ostentatiously prayed for just about everything and everyone conceivable, in just about every conceivable way and fashion. The gang of apostles were currently living in a “Christian” house known as “The Manger of Christ”, a beautiful out reach Christian home that bordered the 5FWY and the 91FWY in the city of Anaheim, CA. The Manger, or the “Mange” as Timmy thought about it, was shared with the landlord’s Sunni fundamentalist, Indonesian brother-Auk mod. Auk mod lived in a separate room that touched the back patio, sharing only the backyard as true common ground with the tenaciously yet tentative tenants. This provided quite a contrast from the over zealous pseudo-Pentecostal Christian atmosphere that was attempted by the brothers, lightly seasoned with a Taliban-esc décor, with hinted tastes of gamelan music and garnished with a hint of religiously intolerant resentment. Michael beckoned Timmy over to the crowd to congregate with them. Timmy reluctantly joined as his worst fear, misguided and meaningless prayer, was about to take place.
“All right, everyone is here right? First off, I want to take a picture. Everyone down to evangelize the gospel this moment in time?!” The members started cheering Michael on as he began to vehemently evangelize his thoughts through open communal prayer.
“Dear father Lord, father Lord…”Michael began to sob a little…”We thank you father Lord, we thank YOU…IN THE NAME OF SWEET…SWEET…SWEET JEEEZ-US O LORD-AH!!! Father God, father god, I just pray…that…what’s your name again…Jimmy?” Timmy was asked.
“No it’s Timmy!” The poor Irishman protested.
“Father Lord…” Michael dismissively continued “Father LORD…we pray that poor Jimmy here can receive the spirit here and abandon his Catholic ways O LORD-AH…THAT HE MAY FEEL THE SPIRIT AND STOOOO-PPPP…praying to statues of whores and worshiped false god’s O LORD-AH!!!” Timmy was once again becoming irritable and offended by the anti-Catholic and anti-Mormon rhetoric that was often whispered like bird-song amongst those in the congregation, who were not familiar with Timmy, and in such cavalier fashion too. It was at moments in life, just like this, when Timmy’s felt trapped that his mind would often wonder, as if attempting mental escape in loo of physical escape, to accomplish the same goals, almost like settling for the last girl standing at a serious Irish drinking bout. As the newspeak of Christianity faded slowly from the frontal lobes of Timmy’s mind, he found himself wondering back to Patti’s Pub on that night fate would play its cruel and twisted joke on him.
Patti’s Pub was located in the Suburban thicket of Lake Forest, CA. Hardly being either a lake or a forest, Lake Forest, was home to endless housing, Guitar Centers, The Library Gentleman’s, and the south Orange County division of the controlling command unit for the Sheriff’s Department. It was not unlike any other typical Tuesday night for Timmy O’Doul, as was his pay check would arrive every month on this Tuesday. He had a bit of financial problems the month before and fell a bit behind on rent, but this was the payday check where he caught up and paid his rent as well of a myriad of other fees and fines that where threatening Timmy’s mere existence in this country. To commemorate this event, good ole Timmy O’Doul went out for a wee bit of crack. Crack being an Irish term equivalent to the American expression of “Party’en” and not to be confused with the actions of getting high on crack, and mugging someone at an ATM machine and then going out and partying with their money.