The other day we watched the libs meltdown. Being all discombobulated, some of the tender things weren’t able to cope with daily tasks. They needed “safe spaces” in which they would receive hugs and reassurances and teddy bears.

“What a great moment for liturgical rite!”, quoth I. “We need to accompany these people, in mercy and because, well, we don’t hate Vatican II!”

So, putting my head together with a couple priests, one for ideas and one for text, this is what we have so far. Please note the Latin neologism:

The Proposed liturgy

The faithful, and others, come together in the gathering space, lit by soft lights powered by renewable resources. Any offensive imagery should be removed. Okay, let’s face it, the walls should be bare, but unobtrusive lest those offended by bare walls get stressed out.

Okay, maybe we should do this in a park somewhere. But not a park named after a civil war general, or slave owner, or heteronormative cisgender patriarchial oppressor.

Okay, we’re gathering in Judy’s apartment complex community room.

Softly lit soy candles are held aloft in the cardinal directions by the Sisters Servant of Jesus the Revolutionary, newly back from their bus tour. Ursapupifers hand out stuffed bears (made by undocumented immigrants being paid a just wage under old-growth redwoods and using all natural fabrics). The gathered community can begin softly signing any hymn from the Cure’s 1989 album “Disintegration.”

Leader of Prayer: I apologize for being the leader, and acknowledge the leadership in all of you.

Community: We affirm your discomfort at leadership, and beg the pardon of all those offended by hierarchy.

Leader of Prayer pinning a safety pin on his/her sweater vest: I proclaim this to be a safe space and invite you all to safety and trust. They all ensafetypin themselves.

Commissioned Agitator: O God, or whoever, or whatever: deign in your mercy to hear the cries of your people – wounded, hurt, destroyed, demolish, brought down low, despair, crying, angered, irritated, annoyed, vexed, bothered, mildly displeased, anguished, oppressed, confused, down trodden, misgendered, mispronounced, miffed, freaking out – hear our cries and our unreasonable demands. Make it stop. May the shade-grown vanilla soy latte of your countenance pour forth and scald the mean people that have done this to us, while bringing us half-caffeinated and gluten-free enjoyment.

Community: Amen (and Awomen, and Anon-binarygendered).

Reader: A reading from the Apocalypse according to van Jones

“I’m so mad. I think this should give us a lot of empathy for the kids in Syria and other wartorn countries who want to get away from crazy and to come here. The fact that someone said mean things was able to become president traumatized a whole generation of children. No building got blown up next to them. They didn’t see their dad get torn apart in a car bomb. Just one mean person saying mean things, being put in a position of power, traumatized half a generation of kids.”

Community: Yes, we are terrified. You shall know us by the browning of our pants on that sad day. Ooooo, people who disagree with us are scary.

A moment of silence as teddy bears are hugged. Appropriate touches may be given, after proof of signed consent is provided.

Commissioned Agitator: Will the genderless professor of multicultural, multiethnic, multilateral, multisexed, multidimensional transnuminous studies come forward for the inexhaustible litany of pronouns.

The community sits. This is gonna take… awhile.

Leader of Prayer: Let us now share in the community cake, which was baked by a conservative Christian baker (the crowd shudders and moans in unison) who made this celebratory cake in protest under fear of being shut down and sued (crowd lets out a muffled, hooray!).

Commissioned Agitator: Father… Mister… Othered Roy Bourgeois will now unfurl an inexplicable banner demonstrating the offense we feel at how other people having been poopy-heads. Will the assigned assistant unfurlers come forward.

They unfurl. Then refurl.

Leader of Prayer: Please stand for our litany of grievances. Your response is, “I just can’t even.”

L: Dude, we so thought we had this election in the bag.

C: I just can’t even.

L: I mean, he’s gonna be the President. That’s so freaking bizarre.

C: I just can’t even.

L: I hear he’s already opening concentration camps for minorities and that he bathes daily in the blood of bludgeoned baby seals.

C: I just can’t even.

L: We might have to get jobs!

C: I just can’t even.

L: Dude, I can’t afford to pay for my girlfriend’s birth control, let along her girlfriend’s gender reassignment surgery!

C: I just can’t even.

L: I know that pot’s been legalized just about everywhere, but is there really enough weed to get us through the next four years?

C: I just can’t even.

L: And what if he’s elected and is president for eight years?

C: I JUST CAN’T EVEN.

Commissioned Agitator: Let the biodegradable tissues be handed out.

Leader of Prayer: Please turn and affirm one another in our okayness. You may exit through the back doors, or the windows, or into the next dimension through a time-space portal. Or stay here. I really have no power to force you to do anything.

Commissioned Agitator: Let the community gather again tomorrow night for more prayer and healing, except those who have jobs.

Community: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. See you tomorrow!