The year is 2064. McDonalds has officially been recognized as a protected religion.

A widower struggling with dementia, you attend the annual McDonalds Christmas Eve sermon with your children and grand children.

Thousands attend. You can’t decipher one face from another – but one.

Grimace.

He’s magnificent. Quiet at first- he slowly builds his rhetoric. He condemns the blasphemous- the liars, the cheats. He denounces excess and the weak that choose to imbibe. A spellbinding crescendo of hate and vitriol spills from his ragged mouth filling the silent room with purpose.

Enraptured, the crowd sits in wake of his thunderous proclamations. Finally, he screams for God. Loudly – definitively. But God does not answer. You realize now, God is not here tonight, nor was he on any other night. It’s only Grimace, it’s only ever been Grimace.

Exhausted you collapse into your pew. As so many nameless faces look on your broken body in horror, you look down to see a wet spot has covered your pants.

Ashamed, you desperately try to cover the folly of your aging bladder and the symbol of your mortal deterioration.

But it is not urine that covers your slacks- it is ejaculate.

A wild smile cracks the etched frown lines. The nameless faces show concern now- but not you, not in this moment.

In this moment you are free. In this moment, you have been delivered.