Midnight Mass

Every Sunday morning, you
May find us in our usual pew,
Nodding at familiar faces
[Also in their usual places.]
Staunch members of society,
We treat the Mass with piety,
And, though the sermon’s rarely dull,
The church is hardly ever full.

However, on a Christmas Eve,
The change is wondrous to believe,
For, through the church’s open door,
Stream people never seen before.
The old, the young, the smart, the crass –
They all arrive at Midnight Mass,
And fill the church from front to rear,
For the first time in the year.

They chatter through the homily
And fidget inattentively,
And I can never understand
Why they can sit and we must stand,
And, as I look at them, I find
Unchristian thoughts invade my mind,
And, in the season of goodwill,
I wish the bastards only ill.