Valyermo – Holy Imposters and an Angel

Posted on September 29, 2002 in Courage & Activism Liberty Travels - So Cal

The show was just starting as Lynn and I finished our lunch. We slipped under the eave of the tent and duckwalked down the aisle to a bit of grass where we could squat and watch the antics of Nuns for Fun (picture here), a group of secular Catholics who dress up in the habit and sing songs inspired by the style of Sister Act.

The “Holy Imposters”, as they styled themselves, entertained the crowd with religious glosses of popular songs, torso tossing, high kicks, accordion playing, Lawrence Welk bubbles, and a faux elderly Irish priest who wore a glittering cape in a risible impersonation of Elvis.

Then, after draining the crowd of its laughter, one of the habited masqueraders came forward and announced that they would lead a medley in memory of those who had died on 9-11. The Irish priest came forward wearing a black hat and the ensemble began to sing “I’m proud to be an American living in a land that’s free.”

Women who wore slick leathers and cotton casuals were the first to rise and sing the anthem. Then teenagers joined them and the aging mop-topped women in sweatshirts and the bikers wearing painted bandanas stood. Finally, out of shame, the middle aged men who probably had not served in a war nor ever met a Muslim stood up. Lynn and I rooted our tailbones and did not join in the singing which, as it passed from the first song to “God Bless America”, began to resemble the “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” scene out of Cabaret.

I suppose I missed an opportunity. Had I thought, I might have risen to my feet at the lines “stand beside her/and guide her/through the night/with a light from above” and bellowed them as a reminder to the rest that we were only human and fallible. Instead I kept my head down and my eyes closed. I steeled myself and prepared to turn the other cheek in the event that my quiet defiance invited others to riot upon my bones.

The performers (and maybe God) were merciful: they didn’t end there, but ran through a few more songs before closing the show. I caught one sideways glance from the broken-faced fellow sitting next to me and another, as I exited the pavilion, from a man who seemed to want to get a good look at the guy who had not gone along.

Once we got out, Lynn asked me how I was feeling. “Scared,” I admitted. “Scared?” she asked. “Yes, I keep waiting for someone to come down on me for what I did in there.” I took two quick steps. An angel cutout that stood next to the ceramics gave me a big doe-eyed smile. I arrested my panic, slackened my gait, and sauntered up the hill toward the chapel and artists’ booths. Perhaps things weren’t so bad. I’d done my dissent in a public place and no one had castigated me for it. Maybe some greater sense still prevailed.

Overall people were welcoming, the monks friendly, the crowd cheerful, the food good, the weather nice, and the whole affair a lot of fun. The food came to suit all tastes and, being Benedictines, they had plenty of beer and fine ale, too. I’ll have pictures and a few more anecdotes in the days to come.