It’s quite easy to be cynical about religion and spirituality in today’s world, and it doesn’t help that you’d be largely justified in your cynicism.
I have rubbed elbows with priests and so-called holy men thanks to familial circumstances. I’ve subjected myself to (people who think of themselves as) philosophers discussing matters of Scripture and its interpretations in my attempts at obtaining a higher education. I’ve lost a friend - no, a brother - to the institution of the Church. And yet, I've never felt an ounce of grace or holiness in any of these places or any of these men.
The person underneath this scruffy silhouette isn’t a priest but a groundskeeper. He cleans the wax drippings from the candle stands, he sweeps the floors, and, despite feeling quite uncomfortable about having to do so, he informs tourists that taking pictures is prohibited unless they’ve paid for a permit. I had - it cost about the same as a hot dog - so I showed him the receipt, which lead to his apologizing profusely and doing his best to stay out of my way. But I was no longer interested in photographing the Cathedral. What I really wanted was to take a photo of him.
I didn’t ask for his name or his permission, but I couldn’t resist taking one last shot as I was leaving. He was in the middle of lighting a candle for someone who is no longer among us, so I have mixed feelings about sharing this profoundly intimate moment on social media. These mixed feelings are precisely why I’m writing all this out: I’m desperately grasping at some sort of moral which to impart.
So let it this: Be what others pretend to be.
I have rubbed elbows with priests and so-called holy men thanks to familial circumstances. I’ve subjected myself to (people who think of themselves as) philosophers discussing matters of Scripture and its interpretations in my attempts at obtaining a higher education. I’ve lost a friend - no, a brother - to the institution of the Church. And yet, I've never felt an ounce of grace or holiness in any of these places or any of these men.
The person underneath this scruffy silhouette isn’t a priest but a groundskeeper. He cleans the wax drippings from the candle stands, he sweeps the floors, and, despite feeling quite uncomfortable about having to do so, he informs tourists that taking pictures is prohibited unless they’ve paid for a permit. I had - it cost about the same as a hot dog - so I showed him the receipt, which lead to his apologizing profusely and doing his best to stay out of my way. But I was no longer interested in photographing the Cathedral. What I really wanted was to take a photo of him.
I didn’t ask for his name or his permission, but I couldn’t resist taking one last shot as I was leaving. He was in the middle of lighting a candle for someone who is no longer among us, so I have mixed feelings about sharing this profoundly intimate moment on social media. These mixed feelings are precisely why I’m writing all this out: I’m desperately grasping at some sort of moral which to impart.
So let it this: Be what others pretend to be.
