Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds, to be precise.
Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, I was a lost sheep. Tired, so hungover I shaved off my eyelashes this morning because they were too noisy. It would be fair to say that I was anti-religion, that you could shake beads, chant, and give Rick Warren and Pat Robertson the nicest churches you could afford, and it wouldn't do diddly.
Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, I would have been in the sort of agnostic category. My personal belief system was a grab bag of whatever seemed right to me, including the actual words of Jesus (yes, Mr. Fundiegelical, sir, there is this thingy called The New Testament, with this soshulist hippie dude, named Jesus. Yeah, yes, that's right, the guy your religion is named after. Try reading it once). Oh, and the time he whipped the shit out of the money-grubbers in the Jerusalem temple. Right on, brother! A little Buddha, a touch of Zoroastrianism (primarily Freddie Mercury), a jigger of Wheaton's Law (I need this, incidentally. Honey?) Most of my beliefs could be boiled down to basically, we're all in this together, so get off your high horse and lend a hand. And, I slept pretty well at night.
Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago, I had a checkered relationship with the Clan of The Red Beanie (thank you, Mr. Pierce.) I was raised RC and went to RC grade and high school, but had issues with my faith, in that I could not find hip-waders high enough to continue attending church. My wife and I were married, almost a year ago, in a Catholic church, largely for the benefit of our parents, but we joined, and I was determined to make a go of it, for the sense of community, if nothing else. However, shortly after our ceremony, the Archbishop of Minneapolis, John Nienstadt, having solved world hunger, cured cancer, brought peace to the Middle East, and having taught me how to make the perfect egg popover, decided to get down to the serious stuff of making sure that teh queers couldn't wreck the institution of marriage. I says to him, "Johnny, babe, you can't be serious. What is it, yer masculinity not up to snuff? I can't go along with this, I mean, you and me, we're buds, right?' and he says "paleo, c'mon, paisan, I'm worried about yer everlasting soul, and Bennie needs new Prada shoes, his are getting old, but don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."
Eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds ago.
But now my soul has been set afire, I blaze, like a, a, a fire, thingy, I have purpose!
Hail Bobby! Bishop Willard and Teh Exorcist 2012!!!