House of Hypocrites

We sat down at the dinner table, the three of us. Some concoction of rice and beef lay steaming on potholders. We were using the real plates tonight because we ran out of paper ones.

“Will you say the blessing with us?”

I looked up and declined very calmly. She gave me a confused glance, almost as if she had misunderstood me.


I wasn’t going to pray in this house of hypocrites. I do not seek to renounce God, but I will not pray with you.

House of Hypocrites.

Saturday night sinners cannot be Sunday morning saints.

The greatest thing in this world is to have a purpose. A meaning to life. Most people walk around oblivious to the world around them. No, not the world you see here, but the deeper part of the world, that part of the world that holds truth.

“Do you wanna go to church with us Sunday?”


“Why don’t you ever wanna go to church with us?”

“I just don’t want to go to church.” I pause for a moment, looking for the right words. “Since when did you become a…a Bible thumper anyways?”

“Since I went to church last Wednesday and I realized everything in life is meaningless without God in it?”

Those words would have usually sent a shiver down my spine, awakening millions of tiny hairs on my arms, but I felt nothing. I was cold. Empty.

House of Hypocrites.

I will not pray with you.