Jesus, Version 2.010

Ah, Christmas. A time for giving love, spreading joy, relishing in traditions, and, if you're me, seeing how much creepier your parents' church has become during the last year.

That's right folks, even the most devoted of atheists such as myself must step down from their high(ly complex and evolved) horses once a year to attend the comedian's gold mine - a suburban church.
Really, any church could be considered a breeding ground for hilarity, but these increasingly popular, mass-marketable chain churches, like the one my parents attend, have got to be the most borderline-absurd in all their irony.


Places of "worship" such as these can usually be spotted from any major freeway, and are recognized by their warehouse-like exterior, complete with a 200-space parking lot and not-so-witty billboard (or, most likely, a digital version thereof). The particular one my parents attend is conveniently located between two strip malls, just north of yet another 300-unit tract home village in Folsom. GO TEAM 'MURKA!

The reason this place creeps me the fuck out, however, has nothing to do with its location or awfully drab architecture. Nay, the eeriness of this church lies within its plasterboard panels. Allow me to paint a picture, if you will.

You enter the concrete walls through towering, ominous glass doors that usher you into a massive foyer, just as a breeze rushes through, whispering Old Testament Bible verses into your ears. Carpeted floors surround you, providing various routes that all lead to a center stage hall that could hold at least 3 movie theatres inside. If you aren't ready for the main event just yet, feel free to venture along the laminate floor pathways that stem from the lobby. Towards the right, you'll find an over-sized, sinister corridor whose walls are ridden with Jesus art and reek of damp, close-minded hypocrisy. The left bears an even more frightening reality, the infamously overpriced church coffee shop and bookstore, complete with smiling, robotic saleswomen. Because nothing says "I love Jesus" like throwing down $20 on Christian books/movies/needless shit after a Sunday sermon! Beyond the mini mall, you'll find inconspicuous elevators that carry you up, up up, into more, more, more rooms in which to worship Jesus within. It's fucking creepy, I tell ya! Get lost in that building every time I go.

And this is what people are dealing with EVERY WEEK. Luckily, my parents (being all too aware of my black sheep status in the family) only force me to attend church with them on Christmas Eve, so I only have to deal with this weirdo-haven one day out of the year. But I must say, if it's going to only be one day, they've definitely picked the creepiest.

During Christmastime, this church is a straight up theatre production with ALL the works. If you so wish to attend one of their 10 Christmas showings, you must order tickets beforehand and collect them at the box office or print them out online in order to be allowed to proceed indoors. Don't forget to GETCHA CANDY! and GETCHA POPCORN! in addition to your playbill on the way in, folks, cause you're in for quite a show. Two enormous overhead screens garnish the stage's backdrop, in addition to a 40-ft Christmas tree, displaying more ornaments than the warehouses of Walmart and Target combined. The massive center stage could potentially hold an entire orchestra band, but unfortunately, mostly just houses 8 emo 20-something fucks who bring their "creative, hip talent" to the stage with insightful, edgy "Christian rock" music. The unbearably over-dramatic kind, that probably only serves the purpose of aiding middle-aged upper middle class conservative suburbanites in believing that they're young, open and progressive... because they sing songs about Jesus to a generic drum loop.

I think my favorite song I've heard so far at this church is "The Jesus Song". I'll attempt to explain the necessary melodic components of this song in my most layman of terms, but forgive me if I lose you due to my advanced musical knowledge. The Jesus Song is performed by playing the ever-enigmatic C chord approximately 50 times, while simultaneously singing the word "Jesus" each time you hit the chord. Although tricky, and certainly not a song for an amateur, the church never fails to produce a dedicated pianist to lead the performance. Okay, fine, I'm totally just bitter it's never been me, damnit!

But by far my favorite part of the ceremony, passed the obvious glitz and glamour, is the more humble, meaningful "candlelight" segment. Lighting a small, personal candle is a valued Christian tradition, symbolic of the light of Jesus that glows within each and every one of us. But, of course, being the trendy, gaudy church that they are, the audience is instead given...wait for it... NEON GLOWSTICKS to...CRACK! Seriously?? Seriously. Rave, brah! In fact, the only reason this is my favorite part of the service is due to last year's (incredibly predictable) event in which MY (and only MY) glowstick failed to "light" once it had been cracked. Not even Jesus himself could've knocked off the silly grin that spread across my face once I realized MY glowstick was probably 1 of 10,000 that was broken. "Mommy look! I don't have the light of Jesus in me!!!!", I gloated euphorically (and probably a little louder than I should have).

I am so going to hell.

Anyway, enough of all this horribly malignant church-bashing.
Let's remember the REAL reason for the season: to be indoctrinated with subjective interpretations of a 2000 year old story book filled with even MORE subjective interpretations of a dead Jewish man's life.

Yayyyyyyyy CHRISTMAS!