Sam, Tara and Sookie have a three-way awkwardfest for three different reasons, and eventually they join her on the pew. "Come on in. Could always use more white people." I would just want the buffer, because how fucking fucked up would it be to sit there and like ... I would just spend the entire time wondering, like, "What if something happens and they suddenly get so excited about how white they are or how much they secretly hate black people and they just kind of ... go crazy and kill me?"
That's seriously where my thoughts would go, immediately. I hope some weird unforeseen mob mentality mojo doesn't suddenly grip everyone post-hypnotically, or caves deep under the church don't release some kind of toxic hallucinogenic anger gas, or I hope the sun doesn't line up with Jupiter and like the Rukbat system far away in space, and that's it: I'm a goner. Even though I know all of these people and that sort of bizarre event has never actually happened in all of human history without at least a little warning. But on the other hand, what if they all know something or operate on shared assumptions I wouldn't even know about, and I'm not in on the white joke, there's a white joke and I'm not in on it, so when they signal each other that it is time for my murder I won't even know it, or maybe they got here a half-hour earlier than they told me to come, so they could plan out their ambush, or what if all these meetings aren't even about Civil War memorabilia but in fact about how they are aliens who have infiltrated Renard Parish and I'm the last one that needs to be put in an alien pod and lose my personality to aliens, or else I'm the only person on earth and everybody else is robots. That is so fucked up, I can't even believe that, if it's true.
"If you can learn to control it, V will open up your mind to everything you're missing around you." Jason stands outside the church and hears the voice of his guide. The flowers on the tree -- magnolias? -- shine with life, throwing sparks everywhere. It is beautiful, a rare moment: to see the life in a single flower, and to feel connected to it and through this moment come to the realization that you are connected to everything else in a deeply felt and unexpressible way, and that we are only the movements of God through time, expressing Himself through us, and His name is only love. Or else Jason's just all fucked up on drugs.
Some trash guys come in; you can tell that they are bad guys because they are smirky, wearing mesh caps and a thousand other signifiers that indicate their class and intellect, and the lead one is blonde and a bit of a beard. They bitch about how it's less like a vampire show and more like a zombiefest, due to all the old racists in attendance -- "More like Descendents of the Walking Dead," awesomely -- and they use the word "pick-'em-up" and generally act the way somebody from like Maryland thinks southern trash acts; they sit further back. Tara continues to wonder if white people are an elaborate prank, when the punchline walks in, staring right at her.