Part Twenty

I had long ago lost any regard I’d had for the sanctity of the church or the holiness of holy objects, and so, to me, writing on such subjects within the church didn’t bother me much, though I have to admit that when I first began I could feel the pull of hesitancy in my hands. And yet, continuing in my mind, the relentless thrumming of Yes, Yes, Again Yes.
Chair, carpet, wall, crucifix, icon of Mary, confessional door, green tile, white tile, green tile, white tile (you get the picture, the entire foyer, I only have so much toilet paper). Large candle, small candle, hymnal, hymnal, hymnal, flyer, flashlight. I grabbed up the flashlight, blew out my candle, and kept on going. Bathroom door, john, sink, faucet, mirror, wall, another tile, another tile, another tile. Pew, pew, pew, pew, and so on until I realized my remission. I’d only come here to confess. Seeing the beautiful grain of the ninth or tenth pew’s wooden seat back that I was about to mark, I remembered how I’d changed my mission from objects to people. I guess I’d gotten carried away. So many objects, so many objects of distinction, that I’d gone after it immediately without thinking about it.
What was I going to do now? Obviously, there was no one in the church, and there were very few people on the street at this time of night. I knew that I should lay down and rest for the next day’s labeling, but I felt drawn now to do something within the church, a place that was well known itself for tossing around a few labels. The dilemma persisted. Knowing the futility of labeling all of the things around me and having no person around to label, I stood in the main aisle of the church turning on my heels and seeking an answer.
I stepped into the pew next to me, pocketed my sharpie, and let down the kneeler so that I could kneel down to pray. With a sudden religious whim that I was unaccustomed to, I knelt down in all earnestness, folded my hands in front of my face, and bowed my head to pray, believing for the moment that it might actually work. With my eyes shut tight, I furrowed my brow in concentration and begged God for an answer or a sign of some sort. I winced my eyes tighter shut and studied the darkness within. To my very small surprise, I could report no reply and no sign. I opened my eyes and crossed myself anyway, and, as I looked up while moving to rise from the kneeler, the beam from my flashlight landed directly on the massive crucifix above the altar. I had my sign.
Of course! I had at least three people here or at least the representations of people in marble. In moving my flashlight across the altar area I found that a statue of Joseph was to the left of the area, and statue of Mary was to the right, and Jesus was right in the middle, hung up on his crucifix. I immediately stumbled out of the pew and over to the statue of Joseph. This was interesting and unique. Had anyone ever labeled a statue like this before, I wondered. The statue was up in a recess in the wall several feet from the ground, the base of it about level with my forehead. I could label it right there on its feet, but I wanted something that was going to stand out as soon as that priest returned to the church. I wanted to get something across Joseph’s forehead.
I started snooping around the back of the church in the rooms where the choir dressed and the room where the priest prepared himself, looking for a ladder or anything I could use as such, but could find nothing. I went back to the statue of Joseph and scanned the image of him there in stone from top to bottom – and stopped quite suddenly when I came to the base of the statue. There was Joseph’s name engraved across the base in a plane, stone-cutter’s font. Damn it if it hadn’t already been done. I hurried across the altar area to Mary and found the same results there. Damn. Rather dejectedly, I shined my light up toward Jesus, expecting to find his name there as well. That’s when I came across that “INRI” above his head. Damn it again. I couldn’t remember any more what that meant, but I knew it basically stood for him or his name and was as good a label as any I could come up with. I was out of luck.
I turned off my flashlight and felt my way over to the altar, hoisting myself up onto it the way a person might sit on his kitchen counter. I sat there dejected in the dark, knowing I needed to find a place to sleep, but at that point not feeling like doing anything but sitting there irreverently on the altar. I swung my legs and thought about nothing in particular.
“You’re realizing now just how silly you’ve been tonight.” A voice. A woman’s voice, vaguely familiar came echoing out of the dark. I snapped my head up and peered toward the back of the church. I could see a small, dimly lit candle apparently hovering in the doorway. “You can’t decide if you’re even hearing a voice, or whether it might be the voice of God talking down to you. You’re probably getting a little worried now.” The candle started to move toward me and I was frozen, transfixed in my place on the altar. I didn’t even remember to turn on my flashlight. I just sat there, watching the candle move toward me, and certain for the moment that I had found God. “You’re probably going to slide off of that altar now, worried that God might be a little pissed.”