A Church in the middle of the city

I kneeled with my head bowed a few rows from the main alter in the church that was in the middle of the city. I wasn’t alone, a person prayed in the small sanctuary off to the side and another in the back of the church. A janitor was mopping the white marble floor that lay before the altar.

I wasn’t praying, in fact I wasn’t really doing of anything, except admiring the worn wood stained floor that was turning lighter, back to it’s original color. Worn away I’m sure by worshipers persistent kneeling and standing.

”Son” a man’s voice permeated the stillness, echoing against the stone walls of the hollow church; it wasn’t loud, not like some “voice from above” but human and close, as if they were sitting next to. I didn’t look up; I thought he had to be talking to someone else. A few seconds later thought I raised my eyes and saw the janitor stepping down the steps of the altar. He’s shoes made no sound; was he Italian, Middle Eastern, Indian, Hispanic…I couldn’t tell, there was nothing specific about his face or him for that matter, except the large gold chain with a crucifix that hung out side of his burgundy sweater.

“Son”, his voice, splashed like waves against the walls. He carried his mop, I was certain now he was coming towards me and I started to get nervous. I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t want this. I just came in to see what the church looked like.

From the outside the church was insignificant, sheltered by the skyscrapers; it could’ve been one of the other hundreds of stone office buildings in this city; there wasn’t even a steeple, at least none that I saw. If it wasn’t for the “Welcome” sign on the sidewalk, I would’ve walked right by it. But I saw the sign and opened the door, cautiously, unconvinced I was permitted in the church.

“Welcome” he said smiling, standing against his mop. His voice echoed, but it wasn’t disruptive, no one else took notice of him; like I was the only one who could hear him.

“Thank you” I replied, feeling more nervous and unsure of what was going on. With my nerves now a full throttle, a rush of urgency and questions flowed through me. What prompted this? Please let this be the end. I’ve never done well in one on one situations, especially if I don’t know the person. I prefer to just not have them so I avoid them, but when faced with them I’m fine with the introduction, but that’s it. If it goes beyond that, the other person rapidly seeks a way of getting out of it, regretting they ever started.

The janitor remained silent which troubled me. Why didn’t he say anything, it was his turn; I responded last. But he didn’t say anything, just stood there smiling. I thought to myself, You know there is an order this - you go, I go..., I know I’ve done it enough. What was I supposed to do, he stood there still; and when I felt the first drop of sweat I’d had enough and said: “It’s a beautiful church”

He nodded and said “Well yes, it’s all beautiful. Don’t you think?” looking straight at me, still smiling.
“Yes, yes it is” I said, looking around at the walls and ceiling.
Laughing a bit, he said “No, it’s all beautiful”. He raised both arms up and the broom he was holding now stood straight. “This church, yes, with the windows, stone, worn pews but”, then he paused for second grabbed the broom with one hand and pointed at me with the other “what did you notice first when you came inside?”

I tried to convince myself that the broom was resting against him when he raised both hands. Right? I was borderline panic now, my nerves were like boiling water, if I spoke it would come through in my voice, I couldn’t put any words together.

“Stillness….and incense”. Was all I could say but they were true; the sensation of stillness overcame me the moment I stepped into the church off the street; one of thousands of streets in this mad city. But in here, in the church, it was a hollow vacuum, protected by the two hundred feet high stone walls and stained windows, the stillness permeated through everything and overloaded your senses, everything else: touching, seeing, smelling – was all secondary now. This sensation doesn’t exist in the open world; at least I’ve never felt it.

“Stillness, yes – peaceful?” he asked, looking to see if I concurred.
“Yes, peaceful.” It was, but not peaceful like park on a summer day, this was absolute, without any interference – this peace could never be disrupted; it felt…eternal.
“That’s how it is, the peace you feel now is the peace you and everyone else needs.” He had stepped up to the first pew, just two rows from me. The broom now rested against it.
I said: “I thought it was contentment. To be satisfied with ourselves, our families, our jobs – free of want. What about contentment?” it came out clean and fluid, how I have no idea because I was a wreck inside.
“Ah contentment, yes I know contentment. ‘If I only felt content, if I just had this or If did this…’ I hear it all the time. But son, contentment is an ideal, an ideal created by human beings that only appears to have an end. But, son I’m certain the end is an illusion, it is merely false hope”
He took a seat at the pew and turned so he was facing me and said: “When I was a boy, my father and I climbed a mountain. We wanted to start early to watch the morning so we camped the night before at the base of the mountain. We slept for a few hours and then it was time to start climbing. We set out along the dark paths through the woods with our flashlights. Eventually, the trees were below us and the path disappears and you suddenly you’re on your own. After climbing for a few hours, over sand, rocks and snow, the sky was lightening, I looked up and reached for my father shoulder.
“Father look! It is the summit!” I pointed to what looked like the top edge of the mountain, where the sky met the mountain. Looking up too he said: “Son, how are you certain that is the summit?”
“Because father look there is no mountain past that point” pointing again.
We climbed until reached the edge and a hopeless feeling rushed through me. Standing at the edge we found there was still more mountain to climb, much more mountain.
“Father, what happened? How can there be more mountain? Some kind of illusion”
“That’s the Summit of false hope.”

The janitor paused for a moment and continued:
“Son, peace, this peace, the stillness as you call it, is here now and forever. Contentment is an illusion, like the Summit of false hope, when you attain it, eventually there’s more, you’ll want more. More can mean many things, it can mean more money, more house or houses, more stuff…it can also mean something that appears to be good on the surface but is really more selfishness. Take a rich man, a man who has attained wealth beyond measure. At one point, the rich man will eventually want to do something more. They don’t necessarily want more money; they may do something noble, a seemingly selfless act like starting a charity, or giving portions of their money away. Noble, yes, but for who? When you see what’s in their heart, they do it for themselves. They’ve attained everything they could possibly want, so maybe they start to feel guilt or they're lonely or they want to leave a legacy to be remembered or to promote themselves; whatever the reason, in the end, they aim to achieve contentment, satisfaction with themselves.”

He stood up again with his hands in his pocket: “But still they do not feel content. And the more they attain the less content they feel…You see the richest man is no more content than the poorest. They are equally without content.”

He was now walking towards me and stood at the end of my pew: “This peace, this stillness you feel, it’s eternal. It is for everyone and doesn’t require you to attain or acquire anything. It doesn’t even require you to do things for others.”

When he stopped, I asked: “What do you have to do? I mean I feel it now, in here, but out there I’ve never felt it. Can it only exist in place like this?”
“No, what you feel now can be with wherever you go.” He said with such calm and certainty that I believed him without any doubt.
“How? There’s too much out there, I mean in here it’s simple. This still vacuum, you’re protected by the stone walls – that keep out the commotion of the streets. I can’t take these walls with me.” I said
“These walls only protect you from the natural elements; the peace will protect and guide you from everything else, or the “commotion” as you put it. Stone can be broken; the peace you feel will never be broken.”

Then he smiled, reached his hand out for mine. I took it and then he squeezed. His hand was warm and soft and then suddenly that warmth poured down my arm and into me, through out my body, every muscle, cell, vein, bone…. For a moment, I felt weightless, no thoughts, no concerns – nothing.
I took a couple of deep breaths, and asked him “What do I do now?”
“You’ll know when it comes time.” Then he let go of my hand, stepped back and walked to his broom, still sitting on the first pew. He walked back to the rince bucket, near the altar and dipped the mop into it. Rinsed it and began to mop again, slowly, methodically. I watched him for a minute or two; got up, walked out the door I came in, stepped out onto the sidewalk and felt the rush of the river that was this street in the middle of this large city and went on my way.

Later that night I sat on the dark train on my way home from the city. It was filled with tired commuters; everyone looks tired on a train I thought to myself. The conductor made a muffled announcement: “Ladies and gentleman, this is the 6:07pm Express with stops in Secaucus, Metropark…if you’re destination was not called, this train will not stop at it. Also, this is the express, therefore if your ticket has an “ORG” or “PRT” on it, they are not valid between 4pm and 7pm.”

I looked down at my ticket and shit, “ORD” was printed right in the middle. Dammit, this stupid train, why’d that guy sell me these tickets, what kind rule – “4pm to 7pm”. Better get ready so I fidgeted in my pockets for all the money I had, which turned out to be sixteen dollars and some change. I just want to get on the train and get home. It was getting hot and I sat as still as I could so as not to disturb the blond lady reading her book next to me.

The train lurched out of station and into the tunnel – I started to coach myself: the vacuum, the peace, if I felt that now this wouldn’t worry me. You’re in a vacuum and anything that comes you way will be OK. I tried to picture myself in a vacuum or room with invisible walls and that all the problems, that none were too big or small that couldn’t be dealt with; there is not need to get angry or nervous or worked up; it’s just train tickets.

Reality quickly interrupted and I began to think: Sixteen should be enough but he said something about additional five dollars for purchasing on the train, so the cost of a peak ticket plus additional cost, it couldn’t be more than sixteen dollars. I’ll sit here, they wouldn’t kick me off and if they did I’ll just wait; I stand at whatever train station they leave me at and wait for the next one; if I have to I’ll get some more money.

Finally we made it into the dark night as we came out of the tunnel and behind me were the city lights. My sixteen dollars was wedge into the book I was trying read, ready so as not to draw too much attention – here’s the money, yes Mr. Conductor I’m stupid for being on this train, now move along.

Think of the vacuum, don’t let the noise, the worry interfere - all this around you the crowded train, the tired people, the train conducting coming to get your invalid ticket, wanting to be home, all of it is out there around your vacuum.

We made it through a few stops and still no conductor. It wasn’t until the after the third stop did I see the conductor in the car in front of ours. He was checking and clicking tickets until he ask the tall man with hair that was parted to the side for his tickets. The tall man was a normal looking business man casually dressed in slacks stood up against the conductor. I couldn’t hear the exchange but it was obvious the man was distraught and the conductor just stood in front of him shaking his head and raising his hands as if to say “there’s nothing I can do”. The tall man handed him some money, shaking the money and his head and he was still saying something to the conductor, who by now wasn’t saying anything.

The conductor eventually went onto the next row and then into our car.

Shoot. I count my money again. The blond lady who was sitting next me got of the last stop, now a man in a suit who smelled like liquor slept in the seat next to me.

What, what is going on – the tall man from the other car was walking up to the conductor. He waved something in front of the conductor, “See look at…” he shouted. “I’m sorry” the conductor said shaking his head, turning his back on him, looking at the ticket of the next passenger. “I bought the ticket – see it’s right here” still shouting and now pointing at the ticket. The conductor kept on and finally the tall man gave up shook himself and walked back to his car.

The conductor came to my seat looked at my ticket, said “$4.85”, I gave him a five dollar bill, he gave me .15c back and went onto the next car.