The Unholy Communion

The parishoners stood in line faithfully. The line snaked back from the altar. Many ministers awaited them. As each approached the altar they placed their items on the counter and the ministers recited methodically with joy and reverence. "Did you find everything you needed?"

The responsorial "grumbling and mumbling" is heard from the congregation as they approach the altar

The minister then solemnly speaks the incantation "Credit or Debit"

The parishoner bows while looking into his wallet or her purse. Then hands the minister the method of redemption.

The minister then weighs the sole of the parishoner.

After the communioin the minister hands the items back in a sack and says "Merry Christmas" As if that last bit matters in this unholy communion.

And still the lines snake our from the unholy altars of excess from malls, and main streets, small towns and megolopoli, from New York, to London, to Moscow. And the hyms of consumption and production rise up off the simmering surface of the dirty little world. And little old ladies stand in the rain with little kettles and ringing bells asking that more metalic mana be dropped into their own little altars for all are slaves and obidient servants to the money god of the little dirt ball and that god does not dwell in heaven or hell or anywhere else but in the stock exhanges, pocketbooks, and debit cards of the faithful. As the people need the god to eat so they need the god to build houses of worship to other gods, peopled by committees of trying to help the poor by relying of the money god to save them. But no one will be saved by worshiping the money god. All goway emptier than they came dispite the heavy loads of packages under their arms. They will open those packages with joy and smiles but all too soon the smiles fade and the vast empty vacume of their sole bekons them like a cliff pulls at a man standing at its edge.