Little House Church (is not a cult, we swear)

The Bureaucrat plays a hymn...just like the ones
your grandmother would have enjoyed.  Not at all
like the ones that people in sweatsuits sing to comets.
Really.

"So where do you go to church?"  Such a seemingly innocuous question.  Such a complicated answer for us Mortons.  Some families just respond that they don't go to church.  Simple enough.  Some clearly the state the name of their local congregation.  Simple enough.  Not us.  Our response sounds more like this:


"Umm...well...we don't actually go to church, per se.  We have church at our house, though.  It's kind of a house church.  But not in the creepy sense.  I mean, we're not like backwoods or anything.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  I mean, it's really just like church, only at our house...it's surprisingly normal."

Lots of caveats.  Lots of explanations.  Because we're a little concerned that Joe Schmo on the street--or our own families, for that matter--might get the wrong idea and envision a group of zealous folks in matching sweatsuits and clean, white tennis shoes, staring admiringly at some creepy, although admittedly charismatic, guy with a ponytail while passing around questionable Kool-Aid.  We promise this is not the case.  Actually, we wear anteater pelts, sacrifice virgin monkeys and sip questionable Gatorade.

While we're definitely not a creepy cult, and we certainly don't have
a scary charismatic leader, I think that if we did, this one would
totally be a good candidate.  Look, his eyes even glow red!

Okay, not really.  We really do just have church in our living room.  In certain circles its even considered cool and cutting edge...we swear.  Not that this is why we do it, of course.  Occasionally there are spontaneous drum circles, mechanical hamsters getting set on fire, and really loud renditions of "Amazing Grace" sung to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun."  And then there's usually a whole lot of food.  And that's about it.  No UFOs, no polygamy, no virgin sacrifice (well, unless that hamster was unadulterated, in which case we came precariously close to participating in a virgin sacrifice...), just church.*  Like the kind your grandmother would have...but in socks...around a coffee table...and we like it that way.

Ceremonial Hamster Sacrificing Candle

So just in case you're ever wondering what we're doing on a Sunday afternoon, or if you're in the market for a new cult, I mean, church to attend, now you know.  And knowing is half the battle.  The other half is making yourself ceremonially clean for the rite of the spring monkey sacrifice...but that's a tale for another time.

*We even almost had a schism once, just to make us super-official.  The age-old bread/wafers debate almost did us in.  But we solved that little problem...by settling on pizza and beer instead.


Seriously, though, we actually really do care about our little community and what we do.  It's complicated, and doesn't lend itself well to satire, but it's so central to our family's life that it seems silly not to mention it, even on this irreverent blog...If you ever actually want to know more, you're welcome to ask...or check out our rather scant blog.