You know, Communion wouldn't really be so bad if it weren't for that most idiotic, pointless and fucking screwed up of traditions known as foot-washing. Seriously, all the prayers, the early mornings, the forced witnessing drives, even having to shut up and sit still while they spout item after item I know to be a lie, I can handle. But this is the one thing that could potentilly be my undoing, that could drive me so fucking insane I'd scream my new allegiances at the top of my lungs before killing everyone with my bare hands.
Honestly, I was never a fan of foot washing even back when I still sorta kept the faith. I remember the second time I was supposed to partake I decided to skip the whole shindig, much to my mothers chagrin. I could even dare say it was one of the catalysts that made me lose it, though I don't think it was that much of a factor. I still didn't really mind doing it back when I was still in Zimbabwe though (at least not as much as I do now) because I at least was with people I already knew quite intimately...I knew how clean they kept their feet, so I could bear touching them every once in a while. I still didn't quite look forward to it but it was bearable.
When we moved to Kanye in the south of Botswana is when I started having serious issues with it. I couldn't connect with the fellows there...I had begun to loathe church and all the people associated with it. Beginning of the year 2009, I swore I would never participate in that disgusting, creepy ritual. It was pretty easy...Kanye SDA was a very large church, so I tried to blend into the background as best as I could(not that easy for such a tall and handsome fellow as I). I pulled it off - of all four holy communions held in '09 I washed feet at none, though I cannibalised Jesus at all of them when in the presence of my parents in order to maintain the ruse. Apparently this is a taboo, but I still haven't been struck dead by the good Lord, so I think I got away with it.
Then we moved to Francistown...
First three months were ok: we were at a medium sized congregation, so I just barely managed to slip under the radar the first time. Then in april we moved to a bigger house in a less devout part of town with the most pathetic sized congregation in all of history. I mean, on a good day there's no more than thirty people! Needless to say, with the increased visibility I have been accursed with having to actively participate every fucking time. It's enough to drive a man fucking insane!
My reasons for despising this shit is obvious: who the fuck wants to touch some other guy's feet, which you don't fucking know where the fuck they've been? And worse, what if they've got fungus? Of course, some people (like me) do keep their feet meticulously clean. But that just makes the whole thing useless, doesn't it? If the fellow's got dirty, diseseased feet, I'm putting myself at risk of infection. If they're clean then the ritual's just superfluous, isn't it?
One of my "buddies" I told of my misgivings said I was being vain, that foot washing is a symbol of humility. Well know what? Maybe I don't proscribe to your fucked up idea of humility?! Maybe my humility is kindness, compassion, helping people, not boasting about my perceived piety and accepting praise only when it is due. I despise all the fakeness and symbolic ritual associated with religion. If you really want to do good, don't just play pretend with all your little friends in your comfort zone. Get out into reality and get your fucking hands dirty actually helping people.
But hell, what the fuck can I do? I've already set myself to keeping my parents in the dark about my faithlessness whatever the cost. And if mother's reaction to last Saturday's sermon ("Our children are turning from the Lord" or some bullshit like that) is anything to go by, this is the easiest and the right decision for me to make. So, barring faking illness or breaking my leg on purpose (I could do that), I will be washing some motherfucker's feet this coming blessed Sabbath. Fuck.
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