The Priests
My last gig as a bartender ended back in April. The place closed. I loved the owner. He gave me a shot when I needed it, and overlooked some of my limitations, as I overlooked his. We were almost on the verge of turning it around, but for many reasons, it was not to be.
We had a small cadre of RC priests that were our most faithful regulars. They liked to drink, they loved to eat, and they tipped well and were patient and well behaved. They used our place for a lot of functions. They were fun. I liked them.
But, as I may have mentioned, I'm an atheist, and an anti-theist. So while almost all of our staff were Catholic and went to their church, and showed them that priest/flock deference, I never would call them by their station. They were just Ed, Joe, Kevin, etc. It was my little blow against the empire. I respected them as human beings, not for what they did. Ed was "Tuna Ed" to me, and when I would tell another server that "Tuna Ed" was coming in, they would look at me funny, not knowing who I was referring to. "Oh, you mean Father Noga!" I never discussed it to my co-workers. It wasn't an issue. My boss and I were closing the place one night, and somehow, my atheism came up. "I'm an atheist." He laughed, and said , "God, don't ever let the fathers know!". We had very little business.
It was never an issue. I kept my opinion to myself, and did my job. There was one night, however... A very slow night. Tuna Ed had a dinner meeting with a couple of his female parishioners who had a few cocktails and were having a good night hanging with their priest. There was some talk among the ladies about wanting me to come down to their church and support the parish. "Are you a Catholic?" "No, sorry." "What religion are you?" My family was Episcopal." No biggie. The owner joined them just as the food came out. They got into their whole "saying grace" mode, and asked me to join in. Seriously, I felt put upon. I made excuses that there was some stuff I had to clean up back in the bar, but there was no one else in the place. There was no diplomatic way out. So they grabbed my hand, I let them. They bowed their heads, did their little mumbo-jumbo, and that was it. I did what I had to do. But I was aggravated, and still am to this day. It's a little thing, I know. But there is a supposition that their platitudes to their deity are commonly accepted and that it's only right to share their nonsense with others, and I couldn't be one of THOSE people. That their beliefs trumped any argument to the contrary. That my job, my station in life at that moment had no recourse but to submit to their ablutions (am I even using that term correctly?) It may seem nit-picky. And probably is. But if the tables were turned...
Which brings up another thing about the service industry. Human expectations of what happens in a restaurant, of how a restaurant SHOULD operate, and how they REALLY do, go out the window. We do everything we can to make guests feel comfortable, special, and wanted. But there are things that are just not possible in any given moment. It's our fault, always. It's the "law". You make the proper apologies, you set right what you can. You smooth over what can be smoothed over, but there is never a time to tell someone that they have no idea what they're talking about, or asking for. It's come up numerous times over the past 40 years. The wish. The, hey, here's my pen and tray, here's the bar. YOU get back here and do this in the middle of this rush... Nature of the business is turning your tables. The wish is TURNING THE TABLES. If you get my drift.
Anyway, I really liked Tuna Ed. There was a moment, when I had something to do behind the bar, that Ed, in conversation with someone else, was talking about reaching out to the atheist community, but didn't really know anyone to talk to... In my head, my hand went up. The timing was all wrong. We exchanged books (Ed, if you ever read this, you have a portion of my library that I would like back...) and we took the moments we could to chat, but I never suggested nor loaned him my Hitchens, my Harris, or my Dawkins. It was not appropriate at the time. I would love to have had the chance to break that wall. I wonder what he would think about The Clergy Project. Tuna Ed was cool. His organization? Well, that's another matter.
http://www.clergyproject.org/
We had a small cadre of RC priests that were our most faithful regulars. They liked to drink, they loved to eat, and they tipped well and were patient and well behaved. They used our place for a lot of functions. They were fun. I liked them.
But, as I may have mentioned, I'm an atheist, and an anti-theist. So while almost all of our staff were Catholic and went to their church, and showed them that priest/flock deference, I never would call them by their station. They were just Ed, Joe, Kevin, etc. It was my little blow against the empire. I respected them as human beings, not for what they did. Ed was "Tuna Ed" to me, and when I would tell another server that "Tuna Ed" was coming in, they would look at me funny, not knowing who I was referring to. "Oh, you mean Father Noga!" I never discussed it to my co-workers. It wasn't an issue. My boss and I were closing the place one night, and somehow, my atheism came up. "I'm an atheist." He laughed, and said , "God, don't ever let the fathers know!". We had very little business.
It was never an issue. I kept my opinion to myself, and did my job. There was one night, however... A very slow night. Tuna Ed had a dinner meeting with a couple of his female parishioners who had a few cocktails and were having a good night hanging with their priest. There was some talk among the ladies about wanting me to come down to their church and support the parish. "Are you a Catholic?" "No, sorry." "What religion are you?" My family was Episcopal." No biggie. The owner joined them just as the food came out. They got into their whole "saying grace" mode, and asked me to join in. Seriously, I felt put upon. I made excuses that there was some stuff I had to clean up back in the bar, but there was no one else in the place. There was no diplomatic way out. So they grabbed my hand, I let them. They bowed their heads, did their little mumbo-jumbo, and that was it. I did what I had to do. But I was aggravated, and still am to this day. It's a little thing, I know. But there is a supposition that their platitudes to their deity are commonly accepted and that it's only right to share their nonsense with others, and I couldn't be one of THOSE people. That their beliefs trumped any argument to the contrary. That my job, my station in life at that moment had no recourse but to submit to their ablutions (am I even using that term correctly?) It may seem nit-picky. And probably is. But if the tables were turned...
Which brings up another thing about the service industry. Human expectations of what happens in a restaurant, of how a restaurant SHOULD operate, and how they REALLY do, go out the window. We do everything we can to make guests feel comfortable, special, and wanted. But there are things that are just not possible in any given moment. It's our fault, always. It's the "law". You make the proper apologies, you set right what you can. You smooth over what can be smoothed over, but there is never a time to tell someone that they have no idea what they're talking about, or asking for. It's come up numerous times over the past 40 years. The wish. The, hey, here's my pen and tray, here's the bar. YOU get back here and do this in the middle of this rush... Nature of the business is turning your tables. The wish is TURNING THE TABLES. If you get my drift.
Anyway, I really liked Tuna Ed. There was a moment, when I had something to do behind the bar, that Ed, in conversation with someone else, was talking about reaching out to the atheist community, but didn't really know anyone to talk to... In my head, my hand went up. The timing was all wrong. We exchanged books (Ed, if you ever read this, you have a portion of my library that I would like back...) and we took the moments we could to chat, but I never suggested nor loaned him my Hitchens, my Harris, or my Dawkins. It was not appropriate at the time. I would love to have had the chance to break that wall. I wonder what he would think about The Clergy Project. Tuna Ed was cool. His organization? Well, that's another matter.
http://www.clergyproject.org/
Comments
The people I've read or talked to that left the pulpit (of whatever creed) seem to have in common a sense of comfort in the community and the ritual. Along with a strong sense of wanting to believe. Yes, they've thought a great deal on the nature of god, but they also live in an echo chamber that is going to tell them where and how to see god. I know a few that left whatever preaching role that still choose to be believers. My cousin was one. Ordained Paulist. Had many problems with the Vatican hierarchy, and was eventually vocal about. Eventually WROTE quite a bit about it after he left. I never understood why he didn't just throw in the whole thing, but he still clings to the church.
Steve Dublanica of Waiter Rant fame was a seminarian. He still uses quite a bit of church metaphor , at least, in his writings. But all of them, Matt Dillahunty and others always speak of the community, the ritual, and most of all the WANTING to believe.
From the people I've read or talked to that have left the pulpit, whatever the faith, their attraction to it was comfort from community, and ritual, and the overwhelming DESIRE to believe. A few still cling to their church. I have a cousin that was an ordained Paulist. He came to have very strong disagreements with the hierarchy of the Vatican, and became vocal about them. He wrote a few books about it after he left. But he still goes to church, still considers himself a Catholic in good standing with the church. Raised his family in the church. All his quandaries, all his disagreements, and as thoughtful and scholarly as he is, I always wondered why he didn't just chuck it all for the nonsense it is. But he still believes. I don't know. Upbringing, habit. Comfort. Rituals and music, art and history, the cadence of the rites, all go toward a sort of all-involving hypnosis. I'm not pulling that out of my ass. I hear it, or read it all the time from the ones that have been there. It's a common theme.
I have to thank you. All of this gave me the idea for my next post. Individualism vs the need to fit in and conform.
Anywhoo...thanks for reading and responding. I'm feeling this whole blogging experience a little weird. The ideas don't come out nearly as compelling as they start out in my head. I'm going to try to keep it interesting.
Thanks for commenting, Lester. You're my first! I wasn't sure anyone even really reads this damn thing.
The people I've read or talked to that left the pulpit (of whatever creed) seem to have in common a sense of comfort in the community and the ritual. Along with a strong sense of wanting to believe. Yes, they've thought a great deal on the nature of god, but they also live in an echo chamber that is going to tell them where and how to see god. I know a few that left whatever preaching role that still choose to be believers. My cousin was one. Ordained Paulist. Had many problems with the Vatican hierarchy, and was eventually vocal about. Eventually WROTE quite a bit about it after he left. I never understood why he didn't just throw in the whole thing, but he still clings to the church.
Steve Dublanica of Waiter Rant fame was a seminarian. He still uses quite a bit of church metaphor , at least, in his writings. But all of them, Matt Dillahunty and others always speak of the community, the ritual, and most of all the WANTING to believe.