Our Sunday Best

Years ago, that ubiquitous phrase meant that you were going to the house of the Lord, and as such, dressed as respectfully as if you were to be in the company of a king.

In some places, that still holds true.  At nearly every predominantly African-American church I’ve passed on myriad Sundays, dapper men wear suits and hats and the ladies wear bright, faultless dresses. There’s something at once charming and impressive about that.

On the other hand, about the only time you’ll see white people dressed that well in a Catholic church is when they’re lying in a casket.

For the most part, there’s nothing wrong with dressing a bit casually for church. Personally, I’m about as comfortable in a suit as a cat in a bathtub. But at some point, dressing down crosses the line from “casual” to “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Take Pittsburgh, for example. On any given Sunday, you can look around the church and see grown men and women smartly decked out in their finest Steelers jerseys. Now, that’s fine if the line you’re standing in is for a couple of beers and a footlong. But in a Catholic church, it’s kinda ridiculous, given that Catholics believe they’re standing in line to receive the body, blood, soul and divinity of the Son of the Living God. Do you really think that an appropriate top to wear for this Eucharistic mystery is Ben Roethlisberger’s big ol’ number seven?

“Ah, what’s the big deal?” some ask. “It’s not like the Apostles dressed up for Jesus.” Well, yes, that’s true. But on the other hand, they weren’t wearing a licensed replica throwback Barabbas tunic either.

Seeing Steeler jerseys at Mass makes me wonder what Father Robert J. McCoy would think of today’s church fashion. Father McCoy was our parish priest growing up in the Juniata section of Altoona. He was a no-nonsense man, a veteran of World War II and no fan of the creeping informality that began infesting the church after Vatican II. I’m pretty sure that had you walked into Holy Rosary Church in the 1970s bedecked in your best Lambert jersey, Father McCoy would have put you in a half-nelson and thrown you head-first through a stained glass window. Had you’d been paralyzed in the incident, Father McCoy would have then promptly taken to the podium and made a heartfelt financial appeal to fix the window.

However, in the era of Christ-as-self-esteem coach, I’ve yet to see a priest bat an eye when a jersey-clad parishioner walks up to receive communion. They’d probably tell you they’re just glad the Steelers fan is at Mass.

So am I. They make my khakis and polo shirt look rather formal. 

Snow, Please.

Imagine a guy with a beard. A nice, bushy, white beard. He looks nice with that beard. Distinguished. Warm. Friendly. Then one day, he shaves the beard, only to reveal a face full of scars, pockmarks, lopsided moles, puncture wounds, bug bites and a birthmark shaped like a vomiting goat.

That's Pittsburgh in winter when the snow melts.

This time of year, western Pennsylvania sprouts a bumper crop of ugly. There's no sugarcoating that fact. Without snow, this place ranks right up there in dismal with post-eruption Mount Saint Helens. It's brown and gray and dead and depressing. Ever see a promotional photo of Pittsburgh in winter with no snow? No. You know why? Because it's fugly, that's why.

We had an inch and a half of rain yesterday, and all people are saying is, "Well, at least it wasn't snow." Yeah, that would be awful if this vista of mud and leafless trees and naked scrub brush and brown grass and crooked telephone poles were to be covered up by a blanket of pristine white snow. Thank God it rained and now I can see every discarded milk jug in every decomposing patch of thickets along every dilapidated guard rail.

"Well, you don't have to shovel rain."

This is the frequent refrain from folks who'd rather suffer Seasonal Affective Disorder than push fluffy white snow to the curb. I guess an increased risk of suicide is preferable to an increased risk of heart attack.

Unfortunately, these folks are getting their way right now. This gray, lifeless day could last another three months. They may be happy, but I'm praying for snow. Everything's dead out there. It might as well be buried.

Scott Brown Saves the Democratic Party

Republican Scott Brown won the election for Ted Kennedy's seat in Massachusetts tonight. It was a shocking victory in a state where Democrats outnumber Republicans roughly 3-1. But the big winner tonight is the Democratic party.

That's because Democrats in the house, senate and white house were on a suicide mission to ram through unpopular legislation: the health care takeover, union card check, unfathomable deficits and cap and trade (and tax and regulate and dictate and plunder). These pieces of legislation ran counter to the will of the people who recognize them for what they are — cash and freedom grabs that would pay off democrat special interests to the detriment of the rest of the country. Passing them meant almost certain defeat on election day.

But in winning tonight, Scott Brown has ended the filibuster-proof power of Democrats in D.C. In so doing, he has put up a roadblock to legislation that the vast majority of American voters despise. And in so doing, he has put off the November slaughter of democratic politicians who were poised to fall on the sword for government health care, insane and unnecessary green regulation and free-choice obliterating gifts to big labor. Those democrats who were ready to lose their seats to advance these nation-altering laws are now off the hook: odds are, they'll never come to a vote.

With these issues off the table, Americans' anger will abate over the next few months. They won't remember that their representatives were on the brink of pushing this country into virtually irreversible socialism, only to be rescued by Republican senate voter #41. Republicans won the battle tonight. But come November, tonight's victory will make it exponentially more difficult to win the war.