But mass hadn’t changed; I had. There was always a wicker dish. I even used to be the server who carried it down. And on all the Sundays I went to church as a child, the collection of money was as meaningless as everything else that occurred between the hardwood pews and fibreglass saints. Objects don’t seem incongruous if they’ve been there forever; doings don’t seem ridiculous if they’ve always been done that way. Why is it only now that I can see how many ordinary things are actually grotesque?
