Lazy Letter: Church Bells

Lazy Letter: Church Bells

We entered the church before midnight. The ceremony had already started when we got there, and we were the last ones. We certainly were an odd combination, and most definitely not fitting in: two non-believers, and a half-believer. The priest was giving his speech, of course, in a language that none of us could understood. I looked around the room curiously. I had always passed by the church, and wondered what it looked like on the inside. So there I was, sitting inside the church with other residents of the town.

My eyes were rolling around the room, the decorations, the ceiling, the priest’s silver robe that sparkled in the bright lights of the room. There were two young kids standing by the priest, a young girl, and a young boy. I had seen the girl before in one of the shops. Teyona knew her from the gym, so they greeted each other warmly as they met. They were quite young, probably fifteen or even younger. They were helping the priest with his things, bringing him stuff that he needed during his speech.

Nothing really made sense to me, I wish there were someone there with to explain was going on. It all seemed to be very random, singing, preaching, holding hands, singing again, preaching again, kissing each other on the cheeks, the part where the priest put bread in people’s mouth, singing, and preaching again. The most bizarre part was when the kissed a plastic baby doll, which I’m thinking was supposed to be baby Jesus. Although, I’m not so sure which part was the strangest, kissing the plastic baby doll, or the baby doll itself.

In the end, a basket toured the room to collect money. I didn’t donate any, since a church to me is nothing more than a room with sculptures of Madonna, male and female angels, marble bowls, and a recent trend of using fake candles with rechargeable batteries instead of the real ones.

The church bells went on as the priest was giving his speech. It was loud, and each ring echoes all over the room. No one didn’t seem to be paying any attention. I listened, and counted the bells as I always did. I wondered if the priest had any accents as he spoke, or if he learned the language before he moved to this country. Maybe they spoke it in their country as well anyway, I don’t know. He’s black, but I forgot where he’s from.

25.Dec.17 – Messejana, Portugal