Frustration in the Anglican Church
A Tale from the Parish Office
A Tale from the Parish Office
by S Edwards
Salvation and Peace at one time lay in the confines of the Parish Church and office. It was here I worked and found silence from the outside world in my working day for many years.
The stillness and peace were my only friends. The building was large, imposing and told stories of those who had once lived and worked within the parish. Faces of saints followed my moves as footsteps echoed down the silent aisles. At times a creak from the ancient pews would call for attention. The smell of musty books, a comforting reminder of ancient words of truth, filled the air mingled with the sweet aroma of flowers, arranged and displayed by mortal hands. All seemed well, but for the ache and the frustration that lingered within. The background buzz of the computer was my only contact with the modern world, that and the distant view of the hills, pulled me further to ‘something’ that seemed to be calling.
Silence would be dispersed with the arrival of a presence, followed by the footsteps of a ‘collared’ few who settled themselves in the cosy armchairs. Everything was quintessential and ‘English’, far removed from the urban chaos of the town. Cups of tea, polite conversation, serious issues regarding the music for the Sunday service! It was all so right, yet all so wrong. Frustration seemed to rage within me, for all the unanswered questions, the ‘whys’ that swam around. My pretence was a strain, and I wondered how long it would be, before I would be exposed before those who seemed so ‘right’. Silently, I would at times listen in on the victimized, the abused, the bereaved and the lost, that flooded through the doors, their hearts at times so ravaged by a world that held no answers.
Yet, He was there, being spoken about. Comforting words, words of Peace, words of Joy, words of Love. I watched them trickle through and bring a sigh of relief to those distraught, but I wondered how long they would need to hear their soothing balm and if they could carry it out into the world, the city that lay a few miles away, with all its evil, its crime, its harshness and the darkness of the nights that lay ahead, away from the confines of this sacred place.
Bewilderment left me on the outside as I thumbed through the pages of a bible, one of hundreds that filled the shelves, all to no avail. The words were empty, blank and meaningless. I focused on an outside pane – the words, Peace, Be Still.
Silently I sat, in my corner, looking out at the hypocrisy, in pain for the judgement I saw on those whose lives were as false as mine. Their acceptance of the views of the world, of sin, their embrace of all that was wrong, masked up and presented as compassion and understanding. My resentment showed and they revelled in their godliness, using words of scripture to mask the falseness that had imposed itself inside them. I was an outsider, but I belonged to No-One.
The unaswered question prevailed. I wanted to speak out so much against all that was wrong in the world and in my home. I needed an ally, a church, a friend to help. People were suffering and singing hymns about it. It did nothing to heal, nothing to change the ways of the world that was twisting and distorting the minds of innocents.
Everything was 'for the best', a favourite phrase to cover the hyprocrisy. The donations, pertetuated their shame lovingly handed over in sealed envelopes on the road to 'nowhere'.
The inner life, the being still, the remembrance and connection to one who had walked the path before brought me to a place of stillness that showed me Why. An observation of my falsehood, the parts, the characters and the scenes I have enacted, the shame of a life of pretense revealed all that had ever gone wrong. A disconnection from those who spoke of Him, drove me further to another place, ‘inside’, yet ‘outside’ the world and its clutches and to a knowable father, not created by stories of another or an illusion of my own creation, but a living God, waiting and watching all the time.
My frustration with the church, is that without its influence in this English place, this soulless island is lost. The spires and the steeples on this landscape are a landmark in every city and town, far removed now from the truly spiritual journey we should all make. There are however good people who care, who can see that the world is heading in the wrong direction who go, hopeful that real issues may be addressed here, that someone who speaks there, really can see the truth. They are misled, they look to idols and an image so sweet, but passive in all that is harming and damaging their mind. They do not know that to see the truth, you must expose the false. You cannot hide behind religiousity, yourself and others, and hope it will go away. The relief of honesty, the tricks, the games we play, gives Freedom
Despite my departure, I am grateful that in part there was a ‘place’ albeit outside myself, where something spoke to me and got through, and showed me The Way removing some of the scales from my eyes, revealing some understanding and sight in ways I had forgot.
He spoke through the stillness, calling continually, way above the words, the building and the image. He spoke internally to a place deep inside, once connected and now confused. He slowly returned by voice and took away some of the anger that prevented me speaking from my heart.
His story was embedded there, his singular path and all it stood for. The journey, the dissapointment, the betrayal, the pain.
His knowingness, His understanding. His Forgiveness and Salvation....... His Peace.
Salvation and Peace at one time lay in the confines of the Parish Church and office. It was here I worked and found silence from the outside world in my working day for many years.
The stillness and peace were my only friends. The building was large, imposing and told stories of those who had once lived and worked within the parish. Faces of saints followed my moves as footsteps echoed down the silent aisles. At times a creak from the ancient pews would call for attention. The smell of musty books, a comforting reminder of ancient words of truth, filled the air mingled with the sweet aroma of flowers, arranged and displayed by mortal hands. All seemed well, but for the ache and the frustration that lingered within. The background buzz of the computer was my only contact with the modern world, that and the distant view of the hills, pulled me further to ‘something’ that seemed to be calling.
Silence would be dispersed with the arrival of a presence, followed by the footsteps of a ‘collared’ few who settled themselves in the cosy armchairs. Everything was quintessential and ‘English’, far removed from the urban chaos of the town. Cups of tea, polite conversation, serious issues regarding the music for the Sunday service! It was all so right, yet all so wrong. Frustration seemed to rage within me, for all the unanswered questions, the ‘whys’ that swam around. My pretence was a strain, and I wondered how long it would be, before I would be exposed before those who seemed so ‘right’. Silently, I would at times listen in on the victimized, the abused, the bereaved and the lost, that flooded through the doors, their hearts at times so ravaged by a world that held no answers.
Yet, He was there, being spoken about. Comforting words, words of Peace, words of Joy, words of Love. I watched them trickle through and bring a sigh of relief to those distraught, but I wondered how long they would need to hear their soothing balm and if they could carry it out into the world, the city that lay a few miles away, with all its evil, its crime, its harshness and the darkness of the nights that lay ahead, away from the confines of this sacred place.
Bewilderment left me on the outside as I thumbed through the pages of a bible, one of hundreds that filled the shelves, all to no avail. The words were empty, blank and meaningless. I focused on an outside pane – the words, Peace, Be Still.
Silently I sat, in my corner, looking out at the hypocrisy, in pain for the judgement I saw on those whose lives were as false as mine. Their acceptance of the views of the world, of sin, their embrace of all that was wrong, masked up and presented as compassion and understanding. My resentment showed and they revelled in their godliness, using words of scripture to mask the falseness that had imposed itself inside them. I was an outsider, but I belonged to No-One.
The unaswered question prevailed. I wanted to speak out so much against all that was wrong in the world and in my home. I needed an ally, a church, a friend to help. People were suffering and singing hymns about it. It did nothing to heal, nothing to change the ways of the world that was twisting and distorting the minds of innocents.
Everything was 'for the best', a favourite phrase to cover the hyprocrisy. The donations, pertetuated their shame lovingly handed over in sealed envelopes on the road to 'nowhere'.
The inner life, the being still, the remembrance and connection to one who had walked the path before brought me to a place of stillness that showed me Why. An observation of my falsehood, the parts, the characters and the scenes I have enacted, the shame of a life of pretense revealed all that had ever gone wrong. A disconnection from those who spoke of Him, drove me further to another place, ‘inside’, yet ‘outside’ the world and its clutches and to a knowable father, not created by stories of another or an illusion of my own creation, but a living God, waiting and watching all the time.
My frustration with the church, is that without its influence in this English place, this soulless island is lost. The spires and the steeples on this landscape are a landmark in every city and town, far removed now from the truly spiritual journey we should all make. There are however good people who care, who can see that the world is heading in the wrong direction who go, hopeful that real issues may be addressed here, that someone who speaks there, really can see the truth. They are misled, they look to idols and an image so sweet, but passive in all that is harming and damaging their mind. They do not know that to see the truth, you must expose the false. You cannot hide behind religiousity, yourself and others, and hope it will go away. The relief of honesty, the tricks, the games we play, gives Freedom
Despite my departure, I am grateful that in part there was a ‘place’ albeit outside myself, where something spoke to me and got through, and showed me The Way removing some of the scales from my eyes, revealing some understanding and sight in ways I had forgot.
He spoke through the stillness, calling continually, way above the words, the building and the image. He spoke internally to a place deep inside, once connected and now confused. He slowly returned by voice and took away some of the anger that prevented me speaking from my heart.
His story was embedded there, his singular path and all it stood for. The journey, the dissapointment, the betrayal, the pain.
His knowingness, His understanding. His Forgiveness and Salvation....... His Peace.
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