Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I am a horrible godparent. My cousin gave me the honor of being the Godfather to his baby boy and invited me to the Christening on Sunday. I felt so bad, because I didn’t know the kids name, nor did I know how old the kid was. I didn’t even go to the hospital when the child was born. Isn’t that terrible? So, I made it up in my mind that I would go to the Christening, regardless. Come hell or high water, I was going to be there. Lucky for me, I remembered where the church was, because it was right across the street from the Methodist Church I grow up in.
My cousin left a message on my answering machine telling me that the pastor, his father-in-law, wanted the Godparents to be at church at least by one o’clock. This was great, because it gave me ample time to get some sleep before heading out. I got there ten minute prior , just encase they started early (I don’t know who I was fooling). LOL. The pastor of the church is one of those pastors who love to hear themselves talk and don’t know when to shut the hell up.
The church is huge, but the congregation is small. After I take my seat towards the front, back, waiting for the pastor to shut the hell up, I do a head count of the people in the huge church. Yeah, there were that few a number that I felt I could do a head count, although I don‘t know what possessed me to perform a tactical head count. I’d say there was no more than a hundred folks in the church, which would have held about a thousand comfortably, and that was including the children.
When they are about to perform the Christening ceremony, my cousin looks back and sees me (I know his ass didn’t expect me to come), but I don’t let down family or friends. I throw up the peace sign at him and he motions for me to come sit up front with him and his ugly wife. I shake my head ’no’ so he comes back and gets me. He informs me that the Pastor wants all the Godparents to sit up front, so I concede and go up front. Wifey hands me over my little Godchild, childhood obesity lives folks, and I learn his name and how old he is (6 months). I play with him and tell my cousin that I needed him to hold me accountable as this child’s Godfather; meaning that if he ever needed for anything, they needed to call my ass up.
After the ceremony, comes the offering and this is also where I start the payment account on my one way ticket to Hell.
****This has nothing to do with me being a bad Godparent so feel free not to read. Note: If you choose to read then know you run the risk of taking that nonstop flight to Hell with me.*****
It has literally been ages since I have been held captive at a church, while the pastor begs for money. I hate that shit too. It drive me nuts.
The Pastor, who I don’t like because my cousin tells me how he is the father in-law from hell, plus he talks to damn much…The pastor tells us, the congregation, how every first Sunday they have this little contest where they have tribes. At the offering table there is one gold tray and one silver tray. The silver tray is the tribe of Isaac and the gold tray is the tribe of Jacob. Then he precedes to ramble on and one about the damn trays, having one of the two men up there for offering hold up the tray he is speaking on. These trays are lifted no less than three times a piece.
I’m like, “Alright, already! I get it! Can we get on with the damn offering. Fuck!” Then he goes on to say how he is with the tribe of Jacob, so any visitors in the house could feel free to put their offering in the gold tray. I make up in my mine that my offering was going straight into the silver one. Then he says how their goal is to collect three hundred dollars, per tray. I am like, “What the fuck?” Mind you, I have already done a head count and I know God is good, but there was no way he was going to get six hundred dollars from that lot. I had only brought in a ten my damn self.
When he finally starts the offering and a tally is done, it turns out there is only 65 dollars in the gold tray (they never give a total for the silver tray, but from where I sat I could tell that more people had placed money in that tray than the gold one. Anyway, do the pastor proceeds to beg for more money in the gold tray. He even calls out the member of the tribe of Jacob, asking them to raise their hands to show were they were. Then he proceeds to say that he gave twenty of the sixty-five dollars, so he knew they were hold out.
This shit went on for a good fifteen minutes and the only reason I didn’t leave was because I wanted to takes some pictures of my Godson. Still, that shit was ridiculous. And all the time I was sitting there I was thinking, besides the dirty words, “this is why people have started robbing churches.” Ain’t that wrong? I know God will forgive me though. We cool like that.
But seriously, whatever happen to that saying about God loving a cheerful giver? It ain’t cheerful if your ass has to beg for it. The people gave what they planned on giving, move on with it. I was so mad by the time I left that church I know I lost any blessing that I might have received just by being there. As a matter of fact, just because of the thoughts I was thinking I just knew that if Jesus had come back in that moment my ass would have went straight to hell.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.