Karin thanks her church for putting a little Jesus in her heart

church

In my twenty-nine years of attending Catholic church services I have never once fallen asleep. So when my head hit Craig’s shoulder with a large thud during midnight mass an hour ago, I felt a tsunami of guilt. Catholic guilt! And it wasn’t during some reading I had heard a zillion times, it was during Archbishop Donald Wuerl’s touching…or so I imagine, sermon. The man is just a few steps from God and all I can do is kickback and take a short snooze. There were a million other very interesting things going on in church: the grown woman dressed like an ice skater sandwiched next to me, a collection of the most ugly Christmas ties I have ever seen, or the rather attractive Gregorian Scholars singing angelically. But no. All that just wasn’t enough to keep me awake .

Despite my ill-timed slumber, midnight mass is the only way I ever want to begin Christmas day. Bunched in a cathedral with zillions of exhausted strangers belting carols in the name of the man upstairs. In a few hours, I will actually be heading to church again, but I always feel like the 10 o’clock service attendees, like my parents, are taking the easy way out. I prefer to plod along with the Christmas marathoners.

While I was napping in St. Matt’s pew like I owned the place, I did take a moment or two to make a few false promises, like never speaking ill of my fellow man or using the words “heinous bridge troll” to describe people. But I also thought about all the things I’m thankful for, one of them being this wonderfully silly little blog. It’s 2:46 am on Christmas, I’m click clacking on my computer and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Merry merry Christmas.

St. Matthews is where John F. Kennedy's funeral was held and where I go to remember that Christmas is not just celebrating the gift of jewelry or tartan underwear.