October 19, 2005... I went to my first funeral last week. It was some crazy-ass shit.
See, I was baptized as an infant so, as my mother explained to me, I am a Christian. I have no choice in the matter. Still, the Church has played almost no role in my life thus far. In fact, aside from my baptism, the only other time I’ve ever actually been inside a church—for any reason other than to look at the woodwork and stained glass—was once, when relatives were in town and my mother wanted them to believe we were some pious-ass fuckers. I think I blew our cover, though, when at some pre-ordained moment during the service, the people in the pews reached they hands out to the strangers around them ... and I recoiled in horror and confusion.
Anyway, the funeral service was like that. The rent-a-priest mumboed some jumbo and every thirty seconds or so, the more practiced among the Christians in the room would holla back “Praise be to God,” or some such shit. Straight up, it was spooky. It’s not even like the priest was giving them a cue or nothing. They just knew when to come in, like it was some voodoo shit or something.
I found myself wondering what an African tribesman, straight from the jungles of Borneo, would think about it all. Man, he’d prolly think it was some primitive, superstitious old shit.
More about Sweet Billy Pilgrim < there. In particular, check out they ultra-swell blog.
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