What do they do up in the music office between services?

The Sunday LA Times Crossword. They each could do the puzzle by themselves, but they all feel sorry for each other so they just politely play dumb.

Do these bums get paid?

Absolutely, otherwise they'd never get out of bed on a Sunday morning.

What the heck do these people look like?

Why don't you just take a look?

a. "You won't believe what I saw on the Food Channel this week."
b. "You won't believe what I cooked last night."
c. "My kids were up all night throwing up. I wonder if it's something they ate?"

Often, they discuss the Iron Chef TV show that airs on Saturday nights, and how glad they are not to have to cook stingray cheeks or use squid ink.

Each musician goes into a deep trance during the service. They have no recollection of any events from the time the speaker walks up to the podium 'til they leave. They'd like everyone to believe that it's some kind of Zen thing.

They usually don't know where they are, where they're going or where they've just been. They're so sleep deprived that they often just wander around aimlessly until someone tells them it's time to play again.

Another place they might be found is "inside." You see, before the minister begins the morning meditation, she will often say to the congregation, "Let's go inside." The band then, in its sheep-like way follows everyone else "inside." Once "inside," they often can't find their way "outside" again, which is why they wander around aimlessly. They feel trapped and afraid... like mice. One can tell by the looks on their faces that they're in another dimension, inaccessible from this plane of reality. In this state, they can't be contacted; People can see them, but they can't see other people. Dogs can talk to them, but not cats. One way to pull them out of their trance-like stupor is to say "amen."