An Observation of Faith

A short writing piece required of me in a college English course. I just picked random bits of noise and images from an hour at Sunday Mass.

The echo of air running over crafted marble. A woman’s high heels click as she walks through a large wooden door. Hushed whispers hover around me along with the rustling of paper and purses. Things are relatively quiet right now as the patrons filter in.

An announcement of faith is accompanied by a plea for a donation. The slightly altered sound of the human voice sent through a microphone. More rustling in wooden pews, but not as many whispers. I hear a baby’s cry rise in crescendo somewhere behind me. The cry only fades with the infant’s breath, until his mother shuffles past knees and coats and out into the entrance hall.

Shoes on marble again. A newspaper print book is laid down on a podium with a soft thud. I can only hear it because it’s amplified through the microphone. He reads a passage from the Bible. His voice feels like its coming from high above me. I feel it slowly beat down onto my ears as each word is spoken. He walks away from the podium, and takes a soft seat on a noisy wooden pew.

A hymn now. The soft voice of a young woman fills my ears. Her voice is soft, and negates the low strum of the innate electrical background of the speakers. As I begin to settle into her tone she leaves and I am left with the dull repetition of shuffling feat and ruffled coats.

More lecture on life and the world. The father’s voice is loud and awakening. His voice is easily the most recognizable and imposing, yet not as endearing as the hymn singer. His words reverberate amongst the high scaffolds. Sometimes it feels like the wood shakes when he’s trying to make a point.

A small pause before a moment of prayer and reflection. Pure silence is laced with creaking wood. We all stand at once. I hear their sounds flow through me as our words become one. Our assembled voices drown out the individuals and craft an avatar of our faith and conviction. My own declarations join them, and for a moment I no longer have my own personal voice.

A prayer ends as we prostrate ourselves on the ground. The hard contact of padded plastic on marble accompanies our gesture as we kneel to the floor. The pews creak as people lay their hands intertwined and placed in front of their faces. More prayer, but almost no whispers.

We eventually gather in lines to receive our savior. More shambling of limbs and garments. The repeated words of “Amen” become the ambience of the room. I receive my blessing and then return to my seat. I prostrate myself once again, and hear the dry squish of the foam padding against the weight behind my knees.

A final prayer. The father announces our faith once more, and our words become one in response to his declaration. He tells a simple joke, but I only hear most of the adults laugh.