The sun shines patterns of red, green and blue through the church’s stained-glass windows. The priest squints at the pews in front of him. Under the windows, the colors surround him like a halo. Then again, everyone has a halo with my glasses off. His blurred face asks us all to rise to say the Lord’s prayer. The voices begin shakily, steadily growing louder as the words come back to them.
Our father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
The words feel strange on my tongue. It’s re-learning an old language. I can barely remember the prayer, so I start mouthing the words. I hope no one notices. When I was kid, I thought that you could lip-sync perfectly by mouthing “watermelon” during the song. The possibility of being humiliated stops me from trying this. This isn’t the best occasion.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
I’m here for the funeral for my co-worker Graham. He was a nice man. He used to give movie passes for everyone at the office for Christmas. He died from pancreatic cancer five days ago. He had a kid. I think he’s ten. I can see his shape in the front row. Before the service, I overheard visitors whispering: “God works in mysterious ways.”
I skipped work to come here. It seemed more disrespectful to miss the funeral than to act like a Christian for an hour. I haven’t been a Christian for a long time. I haven’t been a good Christian for longer.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
I drifted away from faith as I got older. Faith started to feel like a security blanket for people around me. I noticed it at camp, when we weren’t allowed to talk to boys alone after sunset. We had to sit a Bible-space away at campfire. I was shamed for wearing a tank-top in the hot weather. The counsellors told me boys couldn’t control themselves. I wore my camp sweater and fainted twice that week.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
I remember meeting a boy who said he found God at that camp. He ran off during breakfast one morning. He stopped at a tree by the edge of the lake. He was so sad and lonely that he hugged the tree until he couldn’t cry anymore. He said then he felt God comfort him and tell him he wasn’t alone.
For thine is the kingdom,
Then faith started to feel like a security blanket for myself. I noticed I only prayed when I was scared. I prayed when I thought I would fail tests, when my uncle was in the hospital, and when my grandmother forgot my name.
When I saw it was fear that sent me back every Sunday, I stopped going. It felt like a lie. With time I stopped believing, but the fear was still there.
The power, and the glory,
I’m still afraid. I’m afraid to grow old, to be sick, to die, and to be alone. As much as I agree with the people who try to save me and push pamphlets into my hands, that there is an emptiness in me, I believe they are empty too. All these people around me are missing something. Not faith, but something. God can’t stop the empty feeling from eating away at you.
In the end, we’re still crying at a funeral. Graham was afraid to die. That boy was still a lonely boy holding a tree.
For ever and ever.
“Amen,” I say, and sit down with the others.
- By Dana Ewachow
Graphite
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