A Church

 Forgiveness

When I wasn't drawing cartoons or planning my escape routes for after school, I looked out the window at the church across the street. I will not go into detail about how I was bullied but the threat of being bullied found me searching for something outside. My life was different, but I was still upset with God for taking away my friend so early in her life. I was mad enough to shut down and distract myself from the truth. The truth was I was heartbroken in many ways.  Eventually, time heals all wounds and memory fades. At least the power that memory had on me.  

Hope

One day I was playing strikeout with my brothers. Strikeout is a variation of baseball.  A batter’s box is drawn on brick with chalk, replacing the catcher. All we needed was a pitcher and a kid to play the field. I was the pitcher, and my brother was at bat. The ballpark was between the wall of the gym and Norman Rd. The outfielder came out of left field. The church. Which was more like center field. Some guy in a black shirt and a white collar crossed the street.  He wasn’t a kid. Why would a grown man want to play strike out with us? Our church had a new priest. A much younger priest but as we found out, a child at heart. And just like any new kid in the neighbourhood, he just wanted to fit in. That day he had planted a seed.  My mother and grandmother fertilized that seed with prayers.

Chosen

There is a French-Canadian Catholic tradition when it comes to having children. The more you have the better the odds that one child will become a priest or a nun. My mother liked her odds, having seven. I was chosen to represent our family. I was the only one who didn’t bitch about going to church.  I was at the bottom half of the middle of the family tree. Because of this position, I craved attention. I wasn’t just trying to find favour with my mother and grandmother. I had to be in favour with everyone including God. I will add I still do today. 

Light

Saint Theresa's Church was bigger than most churches. The roof had a severe pitch even more severe than the fire and brimstone pitch that came from within its brick walls. The pews smelt of oil soap and glowed with help from the morning sun streaming through multicoloured stained-glass windows. The church like the school had airflow issues. The smaller window at the bottom didn't do much to improve it. The church was lit with rows of four-sided ornamental light shades hanging from the ceiling. Each light had chains for support and to hide the electrical wires. The grey smoked glass was cut into arches and held together with black metal each with tiny crosses on top.  There was something else hanging from the ceiling. More wobbling fans. I won’t go into detail because, well, fans are boring.

Clouds

Behind the altar, there is a huge risen Christ.  A new and improved version. The old version was gruesome and scary. The old version freaked me out. I remember being just a young boy. Oh, the things I saw. Old ladies with big blue hair, some still in curlers hiding under a flowery handkerchief. Some offered up their mink stoles as a sacrifice. They were tied around their overly perfumed necks.  I could see the varmints' teeth biting down on their tails looking back at me. They were preserved with hair spray and mothballs. The old bald men wore overcoats which they kept on for the whole mass, in case they needed a quick getaway after communion. The smell of Old Spice and Aqua Velva competed against old bag perfume and Aqua Net. Under the stink cloud, I played on the floor with the hat hook (my favourite toy in church) but most were occupied keeping fedoras in place.

Fear

My fear of God started when I first looked up and saw the crown of thorns. Seeing the blood flowing from his crucified body, I had to close my eyes and pretend I was praying or sleeping. I couldn’t sleep the pipe organ and the off-key chanting voices made that impossible. It was like a horror movie. I do remember sleeping once and to my mother’s embarrassment, being caught by the priest. I wasn’t really sleeping I was just praying really hard. Eventually, the movie ended.

Rise Up

I was older now and the church had been updated. The cement steps didn’t change and even the etched glass doors were the same. Inside there is a new plush rug leading down the center aisle. Behind the altar matching accent lines. In front of the lines, a new welcoming risen Jesus. Times had changed. The music had changed, and I had changed. I was still that painfully shy kid who hid in class and in the bushes after school but stirring inside me, my faith and wonder.

Pray

I would often walk to my school and sit on the front steps. The steps that faced the church. I would listen to the birds sing or to the whispers of angels. I had always felt the need to be alone. Alone, with my thoughts, my creativity, and my budding spirituality. Sometimes I’d pray. Sometimes I’d cry. Sometimes I just sat there and didn’t know why. I continued to sit there into my teens. I waited and I listened. I listened for God's call but in the meantime, I had some growing up to do.  Growing up would come later with the help of science and my mother. That is a story for another day. 

Thanks

My father once said “Son, when you get to my age, it’s all weddings and funerals and sometimes more funerals than weddings” I never gave it much thought then, but now that I am at the age when he said those words, I’m starting to see how true they really were. When I think of that church I am reminded of the scenes from my life. From my earliest scary moments to sad moments to moments of celebration. It was there always welcoming us in. It was home to our grief, our prayers and our hope.

A school, a church. A moment in time.

A family, one faith and the tides that bind.

A smile, a tear. A single bell chimes.

Gather everyone and have no fear.

You have found me.

I am right here.