On Churches

 

            In this country, the United States of America, there are thousands of churches. Millions of people go to them everyday, to commune with God, to pray to him, and learn about their religions. These churches are everywhere, in every town, city and village in the county. You can find people meeting in gymnasiums, Cathedrals, Churches, libraries, basements, front rooms, and in drive-ins, practicing their religion their own way. But, there is a sameness about chruches in the United States that I have felt every time that I have entered one. Something is missing, something very important and neccessary that most churches lack here.

            I have visited the Old World, seeing all that is possible to see in many places in Europe. In Italy, there are more churches than in the US. Instead of one about every half-mile from you, there is one on EVERY block. In Rome, the home of the Papacy, besides the Basilica of St. Peter there are 365 other churches in that town, so that the Pope would be able to celebrate mass in a different one each day. Every one is different, but the same and no matter where you go, you feel the presence of God. The place where I felt the presence of God the most anywhere on Earth was in Nôtre Dame de Paris, the famous Cathedral in the centre of one of the greatest cities on the planet, on the Ile Saint Louis. I remember entering and notcing the darkness of the interior. There are few electric lights in the place, and during the day most of the light comes from the thousands of windows and candles, so it feels as if you have stepped back into the middle ages when you enter the place. Of all the places I had opportunity to pray in Europe, including St. Peter’s, I prayed there. I went to a side chapel, to a statue of the Virgin Mary dressed in a blue robe with a halo over her, she had blue eyes, fair skin and brown hair. In her hands, swaddled in a white cloth, was the baby Jesus, brown hair and blue eyes again looking back at me. Of course, Mary and Jesus could never looked like that, but our conception of him and her in the Western World, is like that. They would have been olived skinned, brown eyed, and in my opinion much more attractive than they are usually portrayed. But, I knelt before the statue on the pew, and closed my eyes. Bowing my head, I began to pray in before that statue, asking for her help with my friends, relatives and myself. Some of the others in the group noticed that, and they said: “Look at James…he’s praying!” And most of the tour group crowded around me gawking at the red headed boy-man wearing shorts and a T-shirt with a wallet hanging out of his shirt.

            That was the first time I had ever felt the presence of God in any sort of building. Never did I feel it in St. Paul’s, the church where I was baptised. I didn’t feel it in any church that I went to in Reno, not the Hindu church I meditated, not the Catholic churches I had spent more time in when I was very small, the Chruch of God where I talked to minister to ask him about God to see if he was there, not the Mormon Temples that I had managed to infilrate, in fact I felt the Lord’s presence no where else in the entire world that I had seen up to that point.

            I crossed myself, putting a few francs in the collection box for the poor, and lit a candle. It was a white candle in a green candle holder, like so many I had seen in every other Catholic church. I watched it for a moment, and began to listen to the hurly bury in the church. I could hear the shuffling feet of the tourists walking through this holy place without a thought of God, just simply taking video cassette recordings and photographs of the famous Rose window and the gothic darkness that seemed to inhabit Nôtre Dame de Paris. I also hear the Priests celebrating Mass, some seemed to be celebrating in French, while others chanted in Latin the words that had rang through the old walls of the cathedral for centuries. In the backround under the melodious chants of the priests was singing, again in Latin of “Gloria, Gloria in exclese Deo!” It deeply moved me as I kneeled before the Virgin and watched the flame dance before her in the gothic darkness.

            “James! We need to go...” I heard some of the tour group say to me as they filed out of the church allowing hordes of Japanese tourists to enter the place. For a moment I regarded the candle, and then I walked out, smiling and above all feeling God in this place. As I left, I kneeled quickly and crossed myself, something few tourists did, and left Nôtre Dame in peace, ready for the excursion to Versailles.

            That was the only time I felt God in my entire life, apart from meditating and chanting in Hindu. I didn’t feel in in St. Peter’s, because I was preoccupied with the men in suits who must have been with the Mafia, rattlling boxes that said in at least twenty different languages, “Peter’s Pence” who glared at you if you either gave nothing or too little. And I have never felt God here again in the US, and I know why. Churches in Europe are built on holy places. For example, Nôtre Dame was built over a Gothic cathedral that was built over a Roman church that was built over a Roman Pagan temple that was built over a Celtic holy place. Very few of the chruches in Europe are just built on a piece of real estate, as they are here in the US. Care was taken to build the Houses of God, while here in the US we have to throw it us as soon as possible to accomodate growing numbers of the pious. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, but one day when all people who read this will be long dust and bone, our descendants will wonder about us. They might wonder why we blew a hole to drive our cars through in Cave Rock, a holy place up at Lake Tahoe. They might wonder why we didn’t join hands with the Indians in praying at Pyramid Lake to God in his many forms. If there’s anyone left they might wonder why we disrespected the land so, because is not the Earth the highest and the greatest temple dedicated to the works of God?

            I only know one thing for certain, that God is within all of us. And I believe that we must strive to take care of the temple of God that each of us inhabits this very moment, our own bodies.