Last Thursday, I took Rachel up on a dare.
She gave me one of the qoolest cricket t-shirts ever for Christmas. It's dark blue and in big black/white print reads:
Not such a bad position to be in"
Rach dared me to wear it to church. I did one better. I wore it on a day I was going up to read.
I nipped into the sacristy to ask Fr Celebrant (a good friend) if he wanted me to do the sing-songy Easter sequence, and he answered in the affirmative. As I left to sit down for mass, he said, "I *read* that."
I looked back cheekily. "Yes, but did you *get* it?"
"Yes, I did."
A few minutes later, he toddled out of the sacristy to where I was sitting. I looked up expectantly, wary of the wicked twinkle in his eye.
"I meant to ask...is it just your t-shirt, or have you been there?"
Stunned, and grateful that blushes don't show up against my skin, I looked at him and said, "Been there, done that..."
In unison, everyone: got the t-shirt.
Wore it in public. To church.
He grinned and walked off, and to his credit, managed a straight face whilst I read. Fr Voldemort's face over the chalice was priceless. His eyebrows nearly reached the top of Our Lady's statue.
In a church where most of the parishioners are hooked on liturgy, sexlessness and humour deprivation like we wish kids were hooked on phonics rather than Xbox, it felt good.
And to the earnest American saying, "I can't believe the audacity..." outside church after mass:
I'm through pretending.