A special place, a special space
I’ve always loved churches, though God knows (sic) I’ve never been in the slightest way religious. To me, churches are simply havens of calm and relaxation, providers of aesthetic beauty, and sources of the occasional historical fascination. I sense no presence in there except the imagined ghosts of history.
There’s a coffee shop just inside, where I like to go for a small Americano after gym. It’s good coffee, and inexpensive. After my drink I usually wander into the main body of the church for a shufti at the Lancashire Fusiliers colours, and a quiet ten minutes just having a relaxing sit down surrounded by calm, untroubled by frets about the state of the world, or thoughts of jobs I have yet to do.
Here’s a point, though. Anyone seeing me sitting quietly in the pews might think I was communing with my god, when in my reality there is no such being. For an all-too-brief spell, I can be alone with my thoughts, unmithered by cats, spam callers, or nagging thoughts of how The Raven’s Wing’s Minstrel John and jongleuse Moss might break into a rich merchant’s house.
However … maybe that’s all ‘God’ is? Simply a device invented to allow us a brief respite from all the worries of this horrible 2017? If so, then I’m more confused than ever I was.