Damn it, Catherine: The Gospel According to Chaos

Damn it, Catherine: A Liturgical Fever Dream in Three Acts Or: How One Woman, One Bag, and One Emergency Jar Turned Communion into Community Theater

This morning, Michael casually lobbed a memory grenade into my coffee: “Remember that lady from church? Catherine?” Oh yes. Damn it, Catherine. The woman who thought that was her legal name because her father apparently skipped the parenting manual and went straight to the expletives section.

She arrived fashionably late—if “fashionably” means floral chaos, a sweater that had seen things, and a cloth bag that could double as a refugee camp. While most newcomers slip into the back pew with quiet reverence, Catherine made a beeline for the front like she was accepting a Tony Award. Mid-prayer. Hundreds of heads turned. God blinked.

Act I: The Bag of Many Mysteries

As scripture was read and music floated through the sanctuary, Catherine began excavating her bag like it was a portal to Narnia. She stood and out came a Bible that had clearly survived floods, plagues, and possibly a raccoon attack. Then came the commentary: “Read your Bible! It’s all in here!” she shrieked, like a Pentecostal parrot with a megaphone.

The congregation froze. The minister soldiered on. And I—patron saint of awkward interventions—slid out of my seat, scurried down the aisle to sit by her and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here. Now’s the time to listen.” She blinked at me. “Well, OK. That’s what we’ll do.” We. Apparently, I’d been drafted.

Act II: The Lord’s Prayer and the Sweater Tug of Peace

She lasted three minutes before popping up again like a whack-a-mole with scripture. I gently tugged her sweater like it was a church-appropriate leash. She sat. I whispered again. She nodded. Then came the Lord’s Prayer. I offered my hand. She took it. We sang. We communed. We shared bread, wine, and a moment that felt like grace wrapped in duct tape.

The minister gave me the “Don’t you dare leave her alone” look. I gave him the “I know, I know, I’m already married to this moment” smile.

Act III: The Jar

As the service ended, Catherine packed up her Bible and—wait for it—a large glass jar with a lid. “Oh,” I said, “Do you want to put this back in your bag?” She replied, “Oh yes. I just had it out in case I needed to pee.” My face did a full spiritual retreat. “If I have to go, I have to go!” she added, with the conviction of someone who’s peed in stranger places.

We walked to the exit. She shook hands with the clergy like she’d just closed a business deal. She thanked me. Hugged me. Looked forward to seeing me again. I almost told her the church would be closed for a few months. I didn’t. She never came back.

Empathy on the Rocks: Communion with the Uncontainable

Catherine was chaos in a cardigan. She was disruptive, divine, and utterly unfiltered. She reminded me that grace doesn’t always wear pearls or speak in hushed tones. Sometimes it barges in, yells scripture, and carries a pee jar just in case.

I don’t know where she ended up. But I hope she found another sanctuary—one with open arms, strong bladders, and a tolerance for the beautifully broken. Because Damn it, Catherine wasn’t just a disruption. She was a sermon. And I’m still listening.