Sanctuary

I went to my church yesterday. It was the first time I had set foot in that building in over eight years. I remember, as a child, I was all about Jesus and the word of the lord. I would compare everyday situations to bible stories I learned in Sunday school, I would light the candles at the beginning of the service, I went to Vacation Bible School every summer. I loved God.

But for some reason I stopped going. My mother had just married my step-dad and he wasn’t very religious so I guess we just sort of forgot about church. I don’t remember my last sermon there and I don’t remember my first free Sunday morning, but some time ago it must have happened. I guess I forgot about my faith too. Without weekly revivals, it must have slipped away. And as I learned more about war, and corruption, and life in general, I began questioning established religions. It’s almost comical to look back at the child I was, reciting verses and singing hymns, to the person I am now, a person who has seriously considered atheism and scoffs at regular church goers.

But about two months ago I had this really powerful dream. In it, I was walking through my old church. I recognized everything, the water fountain that had always been too tall for me, the color of the wood pews, the doors leading to the offices of the pastors, it was just how I remembered it. But what’s weird is that I hadn’t thought about the layout of the place in years. If I had even attempted to remember what it had looked like, I am sure I would have failed to see it. But in my dream, the ones that are so vivid you’re sure it’s reality, I saw everything just how it was.

In my dream, I walked down the hallway, to the entrance of the sanctuary. But instead of turning left to enter the great steeple, I turned right into a little nook in the wall. There stood a small table, a tall one like the ones you use bar stools to sit on. Standing on the table was a candle, a long one, a worship candle in what looked like a glass cup. But for some reason, the candle was submerged in water. Next to the glass was a bottle of oil and a box of matches. I added the oil to the glass and lit a match, igniting the submerged candle.

Now I understand that this dream seems a bit anticlimactic, but for me, dreams aren’t about the images, but rather the feelings one gets from the picture. When I ignited the candle, I felt something, that surged through my sleeping body. When I awoke, I had this powerful desire to return to my church. Something was there for me. Whether it had been a message from my sub-conscience or perhaps from something more powerful than my mind, I had this undeniable sensation to go see what there was to see, to visit my past. You don’t mess with feelings like that.

So yesterday I went. I came late, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I didn’t want to have to answer questions mostly. I came in during a hymn and quietly sat in the pew farthest to the back. I listened to the preacher present his sermon, and as he did so, I remembered why I once loved church so much, why I once loved God. The bible, all bibles, are pure good. I think that it’s hard for most nonbelievers to see that sometimes. They get so wrapped up in the faults of religion that they completely miss all the good it offers, which is sad because the gospel is poetry. It will speak to you if you let it.

Now, in my opinion, there is no question that God exists, but I doubt he is really a he, or a person at all. To think that God is some guy with an impressive beard who just chills on clouds all day is childish to me, but to think that this, us, life all came from nothing is just as ludicrous. I think that my discontent with religion had prevented me from realizing that. I’ll still probably denounce organized religion, but as Buddy Wakefield put it no matter what it is that you believe in, you have to spare yourself of making fun of God because that guy hasn’t even talked. Ever.

peace