They stand up on stage, practising their religion by waving their arms and singing melody -- neither one willing to submit to the other and sing harmony. They close their eyes and crane their necks so their heads are raised, standing in some sort of mock supplication to their God. They want, they want, they want…and I wonder who this God they worship is, because I doubt he's the same one I sing to (though he could be: I really don't know…), and does he REALLY care? Does he look past the thoughts of image and sound and appearance that I know fill their minds as they wail?

Maybe it's because I have so little of "God" in me that I can't love them. That I can't forgive them. She looks at me and says something about family in the Lord and I want to hit her. Family, they say, but they don't mean me. No, the church doesn't want people like me. People who are going through times of sincere questioning. They say 'belong', but they don't mean it. They say all are welcome, but they don't mean it. Sure, all from the outside are welcome. But a fallen one of their own? They use the pirates code: "he who falls behind gets left behind". Or they shoot the lame horse.

If I leave I know what will happen. They'll tsk tsk tsk and ask what went wrong? If word of my actions got out they would be appalled and blame it all on my parents. Or they'd say something about a rotten apple in every barrel, which is fine except I'd rather not be the rotten one: I have a sneaking suspicion it's the barrel that needs to be thrown out. Everything halfway decent I've done will become illegitimate. They'll pray for me for awhile, and then forget. Memories fade: especially bad ones.

I didn't take communion on Sunday. I find it more offensive to desecrate the Lords table like that than fake it.
Plus if I did…that would make me one of them.

And yet I will still sit in church on Sunday, watching them close their eyes and sing their melodies and (sometimes) harmonies and think about the way they look, all the while hitting a glass ceiling in their faith.