(whispered) Excuse me. Hi. How are ya? Uh, this is a little awkward for me, and uh…well, I really hate to interrupt you two during the sermon like this and all, but…umm…you see, the thing is, I’m sitting two rows behind you and your little fondle-fest up here has begun to disturb me in a very deep and permanent way.
I heard you two recently got married. That’s awesome! Seriously, congratulations and all that. I can see that you guys really love each other, and I’m so happy you found one another. I’m just not so sure that God’s house is the most appropriate place to play huggy-bear, kissy-face. I get that it’s intensely painful for you two to be physically separated for even a few seconds. I get it, I really do. It’s called biological addiction, and I feel the same way about my couch. However, my sense of propriety and respect for social norms prevent me from dragging that couch here to the Lord’s living room every Sunday. I wish you two could do the same.
Listen bro, I’m sure tenderly caressing her lower back and running your hand through her silky auburn hair makes you want to worship the Lord more fervently than ever before. And you? I don’t doubt that as you run your finger nails along the contours of his bicep you’re pondering the sovereignty and strength of the Almighty. The problem is, all I’m thinking as I observe this foreplay from my pew is how long its been since my last solid makeout session. It’s been quite awhile, I don’t mind telling you.
It is for that reason that I avoid drive-in movies, and scenic overlooks after dark. I don’t need to be reminded of what I’m not experiencing. And yet here you sit, engaging in some incessant necking and heavy petting (to use the parlance of high school handbooks) as if this was the backseat of your father’s Ford Taurus. Give me a break, would you? I mean, for one hour a week I make an honest attempt to stop thinking about sex, and you two are making that nearly impossible.
We’re not in eighth grade and this isn’t the back row of The Mummy Returns. You know what I’m saying? Go to Starbucks. Go to a hotel lobby. Go to a playground. There are literally millions of public places where you can canoodle and stare amorously into each others eyes without reproach. Unfortunately for you, the sanctuary of a Protestant church on a Sunday morning is not one of them (I can’t speak to the Catholic situation).
I’m really not trying to be a prude or a buzz-kill or whatever. If you guys have some sort of freaky sanctuary fetish, that’s fine. I’m cool with it. I just don’t care to participate. Maybe come in on a weekday or something. That’s not too much to ask is it? Come in on a Wednesday afternoon and you guys can sit in here giggling and rubbing noses until you pass out. Sound good? Awesome. Good talk. Glad we could do this. Enjoy the rest of your worship experience. I’ll see you guys at Coffee Time after the service.