JOURNAL, Sunday, Nov. 4th

Danny left about an hour ago to return to Toronto, and I’m sitting here in church with my faithful journal realizing how glad I am that I had the extra couple of weeks to regain some emotional balance before seeing him again, to talk about our future.

When he arrived on Friday night, I was a little surprised at how spontaneously happy I was to see him; I’d been worrying all week about what to say. As usual with Danny, I didn’t have to say too much, he has enough enthusiasm for both of us. He was excited about a job that’s coming up here at the university for which he wants to apply. He spoke of how much his parents want to sell their house in Toronto. He kissed me gently when I told him I’d been talking to a counselor, and listened patiently as I said that I’ve been feeling stressed lately. He put his arms around me and told me that he would always be there for me. And I was filled with a warmth and a dread that were too conflicting to be logical, yet too real to be ignored, whispering alternately in each ear: “Go ahead, he loves you.” vs “Watch out, take care.”

As the weekend wore on I found myself becoming even more peaceful. I allowed myself to gently sink into a place where I could watch Danny’s happiness, and observe his excitement over our future together. I smiled a lot and let him do the planning, and strangely, I wasn’t at all disturbed by these plans of moving in together. When I’m with him I know how much he means to me. I believe that I can be like other people and overcome my fears.

But when he’s gone I look around at the life that I’ve worked hard to build, surrounded by the familiar, and I’m reminded of how much I dislike change of any kind. So I come to this stately old church, solid and unchanging, to spend an hour before the service starts, writing down my thoughts to try and gain a larger perspective on my life.

I first started going to church when I came here to university and was looking for a place to hide in my loneliness. I tried not to think about being lonely, about the sense of failure that usually came with it. All through my high school years, I had dreamed of how great life would be when I was on my own. When I finally moved east I expected the wonders of life to unfold for me. But I soon realized that the barriers and the shyness that kept me from fitting in anywhere when I was younger followed me here too; I had developed a habit of solitude.

I’m not sure what I thought that I would find when I first started coming to these student worship services on Sunday night. More than anything, the cathedral building itself attracted me: strong, imposing, enduring, beautiful in its refurbished façade, ancient in its limestone and polished oak.
Later on when I met Danny, he started coming to church with me, and he helped sooth the loneliness. He made me feel like there was something right about me after so many years of wondering what was wrong. And I think that one of the reasons that I keep coming back to church is to stay in touch with those feelings from when we were first together, when things seemed simpler between us than they are now.

I look at the magnificent quilted banners of satin and velvet, hanging above the altar…

“Glory to God in the Highest”

I like that traditional children’s image of God: the old man with flowing white hair and beard, high up in the sky, ever good, kind and welcoming – Santa Claus on a cloud in white robes.

I have enough of Bill’s rhetoric against organized western religions still ringing in my ears to say that I probably wouldn’t attribute any great power to God, but the thought that someone might be listening when I speak from within – can I call it praying? – comforts me. I sometimes wonder what Bill would make of my church attendance. Would he laugh at my gullible acceptance of such an institution? Would he be angry or just disappointed?

“Make me a channel of your peace,
Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope,
Where there is darkness, only light…”

I remember the first time I heard this song – eight, maybe nine years ago, now – I hadn’t thought of mom for a long time but the words latched onto my heart and wouldn’t let go. I kept remembering how when I was a kid, I wanted to be her light. I wanted her love for me to be so great that it would give her the hope that she needed to come out of her black times; I kept thinking that there must be something I could do to bring her back to me. It reminds me of stories of the “good” girl who falls in love with the “bad” boy: she thinks that the warmth of her love will be enough to change him, to save him, to turn him from his cold ways – for love of her. For a long time I kept hoping.

Why do I continue to come to the cathedral? I don’t really believe in the doctrine or many of the teachings. It has more to do with familiarity now, with ritual: ancient, stable. The words and gestures, the symbols all connect me with a history that millions of people have turned to over the centuries, each for their own reasons. I like that connection and I long for the peace that they found in their faith.

What keeps me coming back each week also has to do with beauty: an essential and unconventional beauty in the frescoed walls, the soft worn curve of every ancient wooden pew, the cold smooth surface of the marble pillars. Where else could I touch marble with such awareness?

I’m transported as I sit here each week in the back of the church. I observe. I reflect. I participate in my own way.

I watch as people come in – fingertips in the water bowl at the entrance, shake off the excess, sign of the cross: forehead, chest, left shoulder, then the right one. They make their way to a place where they feel comfortable – always in a pew that no one else has chosen, like on a bus, as if two strangers could not sit side by side.

Groups of students come in. Some are uncomfortable in these unfamiliar surroundings. Their friends who come each week take the lead to find a place to sit. The regulars bow their heads and bend a knee to the ground before entering the pew, the others don’t.

When I see these new kids coming out of loyalty to their church-going friends, I remember those early days with Danny, and I think of what he’s offering me in our lives together now, and I’m awed by the loyalty that he has shown me over the years. Surely that must be worthy of my trust.
Copyright 2003