Sanctuary, Part 2
I sought sanctuary the other day. I believe I told you that I would report back if and when I attempted to find a quiet moment in the church, alone in prayer, and so I'm providing the update. I did it.
It wasn't half bad. I quite enjoyed it.
And though my cell phone rang once, and I found myself continuously looking up from the pew to ensure that I was alone, all in all I would call it a valiant first effort. It was an unexpected moment, having received some news that required immediate prayer. I needed to be alone with God. The cross and the stained glass windows were as they ever are, but somehow, they seemed present just for me. The realization that I could come here everyday was stunning.
I will admit that I felt like I was sneaking into a private club, or crossing an invisible red velvet rope. To be entering the sanctuary on a weekday afternoon, alone, seemed like something I should do on tiptoe, looking over my shoulder. Clandestine.
Or was that just solace?
I should mention that I was once caught in a sanctuary when I was truly not supposed to be there. In tenth grade, at the high school lock-in, I was found (kind of) in the choir loft making out with Tom Lucky. I say "kind of" because the youth minister came into the sanctuary, fell to his knees, and prayed out loud for the future of the youth of the church. He never acknowledged our presence. In fact, for many years I felt bad for overhearing his private prayer, until one day in my adulthood, seriously out of the BLUE, I realized that this "prayer" had been for our benefit entirely. Can you just imagine his pre-prayer conversation with the volunteers at the lock-in? "Hey, watch this. . . those two are hiding in the choir loft and I'm totally going to pray them out of there. . ."
Is this why I can't be in a sanctuary alone? Can I not be trusted? I guess that's not it (well, not anymore anyway.) God knows what's on my heart, and it hasn't been Tom Lucky for a good many years.
Our church doesn't have a choir loft, anyway. . .
It wasn't half bad. I quite enjoyed it.
And though my cell phone rang once, and I found myself continuously looking up from the pew to ensure that I was alone, all in all I would call it a valiant first effort. It was an unexpected moment, having received some news that required immediate prayer. I needed to be alone with God. The cross and the stained glass windows were as they ever are, but somehow, they seemed present just for me. The realization that I could come here everyday was stunning.
I will admit that I felt like I was sneaking into a private club, or crossing an invisible red velvet rope. To be entering the sanctuary on a weekday afternoon, alone, seemed like something I should do on tiptoe, looking over my shoulder. Clandestine.
Or was that just solace?
I should mention that I was once caught in a sanctuary when I was truly not supposed to be there. In tenth grade, at the high school lock-in, I was found (kind of) in the choir loft making out with Tom Lucky. I say "kind of" because the youth minister came into the sanctuary, fell to his knees, and prayed out loud for the future of the youth of the church. He never acknowledged our presence. In fact, for many years I felt bad for overhearing his private prayer, until one day in my adulthood, seriously out of the BLUE, I realized that this "prayer" had been for our benefit entirely. Can you just imagine his pre-prayer conversation with the volunteers at the lock-in? "Hey, watch this. . . those two are hiding in the choir loft and I'm totally going to pray them out of there. . ."
Is this why I can't be in a sanctuary alone? Can I not be trusted? I guess that's not it (well, not anymore anyway.) God knows what's on my heart, and it hasn't been Tom Lucky for a good many years.
Our church doesn't have a choir loft, anyway. . .
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