Apologizes in advance for not posting this on Monday…I’ve had it finished, but it was a crazy day yesterday and there was no opportunity to paste it into the blog…
Church can be quite territorial; somehow, I’m really not sure how this works, people find a pew on Sunday and they claim it. If someone else sits in this pew, then there is chaos, and all order is disturbed; even the minister does a double take to see who dares to disturb the order of the mundane.
And somehow, again I’m not sure how all of this works, cliques are established within these territorial areas; so it happens that the gossips, the do-gooders, the youth, the newlyweds, the elderly, etc all have not only their cliques, but assigned seating.
As it also happens, there is always one group of untouchables within the church, and they to have their seats too—in back of the church usually, though sometimes the church decides to put them up front so everyone can look down upon them with both scorn and pity (a stare so complicated that only true church people can do it); these are the people that are poor and broken, and come to church because their lives are in such disorder (financially, spiritually, and matrimonially) that they have come to realize how desperately they need God—in this way they are more honest and pure about their belief then anyone else in the church, and, as it happens, they are commonly mocked for this.
I don’t quite recall how it happened, but, as a youth, I came to dwell in the untouchable’s domain. I was not neither poor nor pure about my faith; I fit no of the qualifications of the clique. If push came to shove, I suppose the only reason I ever came to enter the clique was because of Mike.
Mike’s family resembled the true definition of the untouchable church clique—siblings were either addicted to drugs or popping out babies by their fifteenth birthday; Mike’s mother did her best, but had fled from an abusive marriage only to find herself with six kids and no money to support herself; she did what any mother would do in such predicament—she worked minimum wage jobs 50 to 60 hours a week and relied on the older kids to take care of the younger ones.
Mike did not belong to any clique because his family was from the untouchable clique; and I did not belong to any clique because I was to reclusive and awkward to fit into the coolest juvenile clique at church: The Bible Thumpers clique—also, I did not like thumping on my Bible, which was a must for such group.
And so it came to past that Mike and I formed our own clique, which, I suppose was unofficially the untouchable’s untouchable offspring—though, theoretically, I was not the offspring of an official untouchable, I hung out with his family enough to have the seal of approval from everyone at church.
Together we were a united group of rejects that even the Sunday school teachers did their best to avoid; they put us at the back tables, so we would not contaminate the rest of the kids, and gave us the worse crayons and markers when it came time to do arts and crafts projects. In spite of the Sunday school teachers complete disregard of us, they still did their best to make us welcome—they knew that they had to have at least one group of rejects support the churches claim of righteousness.