Purging the Devil

A story from church like a scene from The Exorcist

I’m not sure what term would describe my religious views. Atheist? Non-believer? Irreligious? Agnostic? Either way, I know how my extremely Catholic, You’re-Going-To-Hell-If-You-Are-Anything-But-Catholic Irish immigrant grandmother would describe my religious affiliation were she still alive: “A fucking heathen.”

My non-affiliation with a church is not due to a lack of exposure. Georgia State Legislature seemingly requires two churches every radial mile, and growing up, my family went to Catholic mass every Sunday morning. Our congregation met in the gym of a city recreation center. Metal folding chairs were placed on the basketball court to act as pews. The choir sat on metal bleachers. The altar was placed on the stage. Worshippers received Holy Communion under the watchful gaze not of a crucifix, but a basketball hoop that had been raised for the service. The sermon and eucharistic adoration were projected via the same sound system that had, 24 hours before, announced the final score of a youth basketball league game (a high-scoring affair ending with a score of 6-2). The same audio system that belted out “clean version” rap songs during school dances, including a seventh-grade affair in which a girl named Tamatha introduced me to the art of grinding as a dance form. To this day my Kegel muscles have still not recovered from the exertion of trying to force myself not to get an erection in my ill-fitting dress pants. I hope she’s doing well.

Our Lady of the Alley-Oop was the congregation’s temporary home while a permanent church was built. After all, a rec center doesn’t really give off the right vibes for a Catholic place of worship. It’s not nearly as depressing. But I appreciated sitting for mass just beyond half court. That’s not to say I enjoyed the service, but I could at least entertain myself by imagining I was hitting a half-court, buzzer-beating 3-pointer during the liturgy.