This past weekend I was lucky enough to watch two of my absolutely dearest friends marry each other. It was truly amazing.
But, before that perfect moment, I got drunk with their pastor.
I pretty much got hammered with God on Friday night.
It all started out innocently enough. You see, the pastor didn’t look like a pastor. He was my age. He was wearing hipster glasses. He had carefully mussed shaggy hair. When I met him at the rehearsal and he told me that he was the pastor, I sarcastically said “nice to meet you father” and moved on to the next person. I honestly thought that he was just one of the groom’s fraternity brothers messing with me.
But then he stood up in front of everyone and started telling us how the ceremony was going to go down. He was totally the pastor.
I pretty much told God that he was a liar.
When I saw the pastor afterwards at the rehearsal dinner, I invited him to sit next to myself and a couple of the bride’s close friends. I was going to make amends, because, you know, he was probably pretty tight with the big JC.
The pastor, most likely against his better judgment, pulled up a chair with us. After I apologized for our rough introduction, he kindly explained to me that “pastors are just normal people who happen to be interested in God.”
That was a valuable life lesson, but one that I perhaps took a little too much to heart.
Since we were just a bunch of normal people hanging out, the pastor, my two friends, and I grabbed some drinks and started telling stories. Turns out JC is down with celebrating the gloriousness that is beer.
After about two minutes of warm-up material, my friends and I got right down to brass tacks. We started interrogating the pastor about his love life and began figuring out which of our single friends that he should meet. You can’t let a nice, single, well-educated man like that go to waste!
During that conversation, I might have invited him to come visit me because I knew lots of single girls and could “guarantee him a good time, if you know what I mean.”
I pretty much told God that I could get him laid.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, then we started making cracks about how the pastor didn’t have to worry about driving home after our many rounds of drinks because he could just ask Jesus to take the wheel. Yes, we quoted Carrie Underwood as gospel to the pastor.
I pretty much told God that it was cool to drive drunk because Carrie Underwood said so.
Here’s the thing about a pastor, you just can’t not tell him stuff.
After I shared with him that I knew some easy women and that I get most of my spiritual guidance from a former-American-Idol-constestant-turned-country-music-superstar, I then, along with my friends, told him all about the bride’s bachelorette party last month. You know, the one with the bidet.
We told the pastor about what happened to the bidet and explained to him that our motto for the weekend was to be classy lite because we recognized that we were not actually capable of being classy for any extended period of time.
So, for those of you keeping score at home, before dessert had hit the table, I had insinuated that the pastor was a liar and had told him that I lived a life full of debauchery, idolatry, and errant excrement.
Well done, PinotNinja, well done.
But, of course, I had to outdo myself.
At the end of the night and multiple bottles of wine, my friends and I dared the pastor to include some key phrases from our conversations in his sermon. That’s right, I decided to turn someone else’s sacred moment into an opportunity for my own personal entertainment.
The afternoon leading up to the ceremony was fairly hectic, which caused me to temporarily forget about the drunken dare we had made the night before to that nice man of the cloth.
The ceremony began and everything was full-on classy. We all looked gorgeous. The outdoor farm setting was stunning. Tasteful orchestral music played. We all made it down the aisle, even the two dogs and five small children, without a hitch.
It could not have been more perfect and elegant.
But then, as always, the wheels started coming off the train.
During his sermon, the pastor mentioned the rehearsal dinner. Suddenly, I remembered everything that we had said the night before. I was overcome with a sense of panic.
The pastor mentioned how lovely the couple’s friends and family were. He mentioned how warm and open we all were. I relaxed, thinking that maybe we were in the clear.
But then he said, “the thing about the couple is that they really now how to keep it classy or at least classy lite.”
The dude did it.
He took our dare head-on and he knocked it out of the park!
Before I could fully process what had occurred, everyone from the bachelorette party lost their damn minds. There was actual hollering, ear-piercing laughter, and above-head clapping. The bride fell into a fit of giggles. One of the dogs started barking in response to all of the chaos. The groom just looked at all of us with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
And, with that, we had turned the event into a classy lite affair.
At least we always keep it real?