the massive auditorium. My eyes searched though the thousands of seats, but found no one. My thought at that moment was if this was the rapture God’s standards for entry into heaven was at an all-time low.
Embracing anger did little to bypass my true feelings. My memories of my father and mother and the events at Moody Church only caused me to feel more despair over what was happening. I did not want to accept the fact that yet again I was unable to find any signs of life. I began to wonder if I was even in the same world or was I taken in my sleep and placed in a box to be studied. At that time I could not say if the thought of this world being only for me and loved ones being safe brought me any comfort.
I moved toward the front of the auditorium and climbed down the steps toward the pulpit. I looked out across the crimson colored carpet up to the antique chandeliers. I could understand how anyone standing here addressing a wanting congregation would feel like a God themselves. I stared toward the front row at the wooden pews and thought about the last time I stood in this auditorium.
Losing Religion
After my father’s funeral my mother asked me to bring her to church. Ashley and Aunt Jackie remained behind to meet us later for dinner. Arriving at the church I did not want to come inside, but for my mother’s sake I walked with her into the auditorium and sat looking up toward the pulpit. I could not understand what sitting here staring up toward the choir seats could possibly do for her. She just sat there holding one of the hymn books periodically closing her eyes and whispering a prayer.
The pastor of the church walked up to my mother and the two began talking. He looked over at me as if he did not recognize who I was. It did not matter to me. His words to my mother were just as hollow as the words he spoke standing on the stage every week. If it was up to me I would have made him leave, but whatever he said seemed to comfort my mother or maybe she was just being polite as she always was.
My mother closed her eyes and bowed her head with the pastor. I did not want to be part of that. None of our prayers were answered and there was nothing prayer could do for us now. I stood and walked over to the steps leading to the pulpit. Watching them my thoughts turned to my father’s funeral. I could not remember much of it. It was like a dream quickly fading from my mind once awakened.
I did remember standing there looking toward his coffin, then a sea of black shadows, faces I could not see and voices I did not recognize. Everyone had a well-rehearsed statement to deliver to us. Fulfilling their obligation to pay their last respects to someone they knew nothing about only to disappear after that never to be seen again.
I felt agitated watching my mother hold hands with the pastor as they finished their prayer. All I wanted to do was leave this place. As he walked away I stepped forward hoping my mother was ready to go, but she just sat there holding on to that hymn book staring at the floor.
“ Mom, we should go. Aunt Jackie is waiting on us.”
She raised her head but didn’t look at me. Acknowledging my presence, but not hearing my words.
“ Mom...” I called to her slightly louder.
Putting her hands together, she closed then quickly opened her eyes. She looked to be thinking deeply about something. Slowly she raised her head and looked at me. I could see the devastation in her eyes.
“ Timothy, when was the last time you were here?” She asked.
I did not want to talk about church. I turned away from her frustrated and walked back toward the pulpit. I knew she was thinking about how we all came here as a family. Reminiscing on the time we all had together. Throwing my hands in the air I realized the best thing to do was to walk down the road she was trying to guide me to.
“ A while…what does it matter?”
“ Your father missed having you come with us to church.
Embracing anger did little to bypass my true feelings. My memories of my father and mother and the events at Moody Church only caused me to feel more despair over what was happening. I did not want to accept the fact that yet again I was unable to find any signs of life. I began to wonder if I was even in the same world or was I taken in my sleep and placed in a box to be studied. At that time I could not say if the thought of this world being only for me and loved ones being safe brought me any comfort.
I moved toward the front of the auditorium and climbed down the steps toward the pulpit. I looked out across the crimson colored carpet up to the antique chandeliers. I could understand how anyone standing here addressing a wanting congregation would feel like a God themselves. I stared toward the front row at the wooden pews and thought about the last time I stood in this auditorium.
Losing Religion
After my father’s funeral my mother asked me to bring her to church. Ashley and Aunt Jackie remained behind to meet us later for dinner. Arriving at the church I did not want to come inside, but for my mother’s sake I walked with her into the auditorium and sat looking up toward the pulpit. I could not understand what sitting here staring up toward the choir seats could possibly do for her. She just sat there holding one of the hymn books periodically closing her eyes and whispering a prayer.
The pastor of the church walked up to my mother and the two began talking. He looked over at me as if he did not recognize who I was. It did not matter to me. His words to my mother were just as hollow as the words he spoke standing on the stage every week. If it was up to me I would have made him leave, but whatever he said seemed to comfort my mother or maybe she was just being polite as she always was.
My mother closed her eyes and bowed her head with the pastor. I did not want to be part of that. None of our prayers were answered and there was nothing prayer could do for us now. I stood and walked over to the steps leading to the pulpit. Watching them my thoughts turned to my father’s funeral. I could not remember much of it. It was like a dream quickly fading from my mind once awakened.
I did remember standing there looking toward his coffin, then a sea of black shadows, faces I could not see and voices I did not recognize. Everyone had a well-rehearsed statement to deliver to us. Fulfilling their obligation to pay their last respects to someone they knew nothing about only to disappear after that never to be seen again.
I felt agitated watching my mother hold hands with the pastor as they finished their prayer. All I wanted to do was leave this place. As he walked away I stepped forward hoping my mother was ready to go, but she just sat there holding on to that hymn book staring at the floor.
“ Mom, we should go. Aunt Jackie is waiting on us.”
She raised her head but didn’t look at me. Acknowledging my presence, but not hearing my words.
“ Mom...” I called to her slightly louder.
Putting her hands together, she closed then quickly opened her eyes. She looked to be thinking deeply about something. Slowly she raised her head and looked at me. I could see the devastation in her eyes.
“ Timothy, when was the last time you were here?” She asked.
I did not want to talk about church. I turned away from her frustrated and walked back toward the pulpit. I knew she was thinking about how we all came here as a family. Reminiscing on the time we all had together. Throwing my hands in the air I realized the best thing to do was to walk down the road she was trying to guide me to.
“ A while…what does it matter?”
“ Your father missed having you come with us to church.
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