Many of the pilgrims were there to celebrate their faith,
but there were also some who admitted to coming because they had suffered a
tragedy in their lives. All of the
tragedies had to do with lost spouses; some due to death others due to
divorce. Either way, there was a lot of
pain in this room. I felt like walking
over to them and giving them a hug. It
seemed cruel to listen to their pain without offering a genuine sign of
compassion.
And finally it was dad’s turn. He spoke about how happy he was to finally
have made this journey after his plans from four years ago fell apart. In recent years dad had been attending bible
study and he told the group how blessed he felt to be able to see what he had
studied first hand.
My resolve was tested once again when Sr. Jocelyn asked
everyone to join hands and repeat the our father. I felt like a fraud and a sham, but I didn’t
want to draw attention to myself and I certainly didn’t want to offend the
devout group before me. I bowed my head,
joined hands with Mary from North Bay and Faye from Port Perry and repeated the
Lord’s Prayer. Every so often I snuck a
peek at my father to see if he was watching me.
He knew I wouldn’t be enjoying this but I’m sure he was happy that I was
going through the motions.
It’s funny. I haven’t
been to church in years and haven’t prayed in any meaningful fashion for even longer,
but the words of those prayers stick with you.
There’s just no way around this one simple fact: I can reject and resist
it all I want, but I was indoctrinated.
Such a condition has long lasting side effects, spontaneous group prayer
being one of them.
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