In which I critique members of the clergy.

So, Father Newbie. Seemed nice. With the exception of an improper use of “I” (but not glaring, because it was the kind that sounds better, such as “He was with {blank} and I,” instead of the correct “He was with {blank} and me,”, so I’ll forgive him) and some awkward sentences that could have easily been rectified by moving the adverb around, his grammar was better than Father Ken’s- his made me want to correct the Letter from the Pastor in red ink and nail it to the church door ala Martin Luther.

Brownie points for not freaking out royally when the chalice was messed up, as our previous pastor would have. And then he probably would have made sure we all knew why he was freaking out royally.

Also, supposedly he’s “good with young people”, which is one of those terms that makes me mad, like “Youth Mass” or “Youth day” or pretty much anything with “youth” in front of it. I am not a stupid teenager who needs poems and hymns and swaying and beer* and no actual doctrine to make me feel better about not having sex- and while we’re there, stop pushing your damn chastity rings!

I’m pretty smart- I am not having a hormone-induced crisis of faith like the rest of my idiot generation, and even if I were I’m intelligent enough to figure it out on my own. And I don’t need a ring to remind me not to have sex! I’ll watch my virtue, you take care of yours, okay?

So stop talking down to me, or if you must at least do it in Latin.


But I won’t hold that against him, because not everyone recoils at the thought of touch-feely faith-sharing like I do.

Really the only thing that I didn’t like was that he’s not Father Ken. Not really his fault, and I know it’s stupid and childish but, dammit, he’s not my priest. *stomps foot* I think it’ll be awhile before I get over that.

*It’s probably a good thing Grandpa doesn’t come to this corner of the internet, because the very mentioning of beer may rekindle the Great Theology-On-Tap Crisis of ’01, in which he almost single-handedly drove two different men of the cloth to abandon their vocations and take up drugs and women in Tijuana. Oh, it was a rocky summer.


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