This is composed during a pandemic using lines from Schitts Creek. I’m sorry and you’re welcome. If you have not watched the final season, there are some light spoilers.
Are you ready? Let’s do it.
To Whom It May Concern, we are gathered here at the end of our sojourn in Schitt’s Creek to beseech thee on behalf of this exceptionally well-dressed congregation. We confess that we are a Lamborghini, a Hollywood star. We are a little bit tipsy when we drive our car. We’re expensive sushi, a cute huge yacht, we are a little bit single even when we’re not. We’re a little bit, a little bit, a little bit, a little bit la la la-la la la la.
Wait, where were we?
Oh, right. We confess we believe we are like Beyonce, excelling at being a solo artist. We don’t want to brag but Us Weekly once described us as “up for anything.”
We’ve been burned so many times we’re like the human equivalent of the inside of a roasted marshmallow. It’s just one long string of really bad luck and we don’t know what kind of carnage we inflicted in our past life to deserve it. We must have been Dracula or a spin instructor or something. Pick up a hammer and nail this coffin shut!
We humbly come to you like a helpless bebé.
Would you give unto us emergency currency our great grandmother took from her husband when she left him and has been passed down through all the women in our family, in case we need to leave our husbands in the middle of the night? Would you provide for us a place to live that has rustic charm even when we deserve full Unabomber accommodations?
When we are tempted, give us the strength to say, “Ew, devil!” to the evil one. When we are tried and oppressed, give unto us the vigour of a wartime radio operator.
May our attempts to not connect with people prevail. May the Mutts of our lives be written out. May we never be prevailed upon to wear anything with adhesive blocking. May we never settle for being approachable: after all, the Queen hasn’t smiled since the 70s and her birthday is still well attended. May we love the wine, not the label. And may that wine be from Herb Ertlinger’s fruit wine vineyard? Thank you. But we’re open to whiskey.
When we are the bashful clam, give us courage to name our fears and sorrows. When we are the disgruntled pelican, may we rise to great heights. May our gag gifts turn out to be our saving graces. May we remember always that it’s gonna happen, happen someday, someday we’ll win.
God of the mall pretzels and the wig wall, we love this journey for you.
May we be given the gift of being unable to fake sincerity like Stevie. May our character develop even half as much as Alexis’ - we see what you did for Alexis and we want you to do that for us. May we be given a relationship of mutual admiration and genuine love like Johnny and Moira’s. May we entertain millionaire-angels who work at the lunch counter unawares. May we be mature enough to say I love you and walk away anyway like Ted. May we be loved for who we truly are like David and Patrick. May we be unashamed in our haircuts and our sincerity like Jocelyn. May we be given a friend like Roland. May we be as not-here-for-your-bullshit as Ronnie. May we be hopeful with literally no cause to be so like Bob. May we be given supportive and befuddled friends like the Jazzagals. We ask for the resourcefulness of Ray. When we find ourselves alone, would you surprise us with warm father-figures and true siblings? We know that when one of us shines, we all shine.
May a world where everyone is known and celebrated become true. May we be just pretentious enough. May we never wake up in a Black Mirror episode.
Divine Whom which this concerns, keep the crows from us unless they come bearing lots of cash and a ticket out of here. Protect us from the barnyard where others were raised. Guard us from gossip; it is the devil’s own telephone. We know it’s best to hang up but it’s hard. You know.
May someone else get murdered first for once.
May our knits be ever organized. May we be one with nature through our yearly pilgrimage to Coachella. We ask for divine leading to stop touching our faces and to stop DOING THAT with our faces and generally keep our faces in line. We vow to you that we will stop watching Notting Hill; we know it’s not helpful for our relationship. We humbly ask that we could someday hold the record for the longest-running demonic possession on daytime television.
When we feel like we are trapped in an Avril Levigne lyric, may we ever sense your invitation to pop a pill, cry a bit, and go to bed early. We receive this grace as a divine boop.
We know that if we ever go missing, you’re like the FBI - you know where we are the entire time. We know it is all but impossible to explain why things happen the way they do. Our lives are like little bebé crows carried upon a curious wind. All we can wish for our families and for those we love is that that wind will eventually place us upon solid ground.
May we remember you are the best, better than all the rest. May our cheese be ever folded in. We can talk about this anytime you’d like. Preferably not before 10 a.m. because we’re not really a morning person.
May we remember we will always be your baby. You’re our Mariah Carey.
Have a bless-ed day and happy endings.
Best wishes and warmest regards,
P.S. We humbly ask you to consider the Kerry Washington and Elle Fanning Broadway all-female revival of 12 Angry Men. Thanks for your attention to this matter.
When we were voting on the topic for our Holy Week devotional the dead-tie was between a walk through Jesus’ I AM statements or… a ridiculous silly spiritual journey through the CBC show, Schitt’s Creek. I made the call to do the I AM statements because of my own capacity/head space but I also made a promise that we’d do a Schitt’s Creek homage of some sort.
And here we are.
This may be blasphemous, oh well! With apologies to Schitt’s Creek, you, God, and everyone else ever. I can only beg forgiveness.
I loved this show not wisely but too well.
P.S. If you’re looking for the actual Holy Week reflections and some tone and content whiplash, click here.