Insanity

Insanity is a way of life to me. Why else do I have the irresistible urge when I see a cute little Episcopal chuch to say, "you are gorgeous, darling?". Perhaps this has something to do with my inclination towards otherworldly disciplines like theology, philosophy and history. Or perhaps it is my long repressed aesthetic coming out in strange, bizarre ways.

But, really, if you got to work with beautiful old churches every day, you would start treating them like lovers. They just sit there, paying mute but resounding testament to a God you both believe in. It is sort of like we have a shared secret, which the rest of the world may or may not know. We really do not care who knows about our secret. The secret is that in the middle of the busy, mad scramble for life and liberty that we call "civilization," there is a deeper, more elemental power at work. The church could pass away, along with the nation and the city and even humanity, but somehow God would survive the destruction of everything. I know this, remotely, and the churches know this far more deeply.

See, I am insane. Funny, it appears normal. Perhaps this internship is reminding me of things I used to know, as well as teaching me many things I had never even dreamed existed. Churches occupy a sacred space, a space for pause and reflection and transcendence in the midst of the immanent city and humanity. Even places of worship from another religion, like synagogues, give me this feeling of awe and grandeur and glory. City folk need this. Country folk have springtime lambs and budding trees and the dance of booklets released from winter. City folk notice the seasons less, so they must pause to remember their maker at some other time.

I think this is why my superiors at the preservation agency, who are mostly Unitarians, and myself, an Evangelical, are so determined to protect Catholic and Jewish places of worship. We have little desire to worship in such place, belonging to other types of religion. But we recognize that we must remember the Deity, and to remove any reminder of God seems like we are obscuring Him. It shorter sour horizon and constricts our view. Even when we disagree, deeply, with those practice this religion.

In Buffalo, there are many Halal markets. I am not Muslim, and do not practice Halalp diet restrictions. But there is something uplifting, even, about seeing some courageous soul announcing in ethnically mixed Buffalo that they are maintaining an ancient, much feared religious way of life. The effect is similar to, if diminished from, that I feel from churches. They are glimmers on the way to glory.