faith pieces (III)

I dare not shift my weight, lest the old and obstinate pew beneath me groan and creak and draw all attention to me. I sit there, already feeling out of place amidst people younger than me, people who know each other but do not know me, having to share a hymnal three ways with strangers who make me feel tall and old. Here I wish that the power of the liturgy of Evensong on this Ash Wednesday might carry me away from my insecurities. “I am the alien,” I think, “and surely deserve an award for being the most out of place person here.” I turn, as directed in the liturgy, to watch the minister, reader, and choir process in, and there he is: the one who deserves the claim to awkwardness moreso than I do. He does not appear to be here simply to hear the choir sing. He does not appear to be here in protest, nor does he seem to be here only out of curiosity or comparison. But fearless, he stands in the fourth pew from the back, standing calmly and faithfully in his white yarmulke. And he does not look awkward at all. He knows something I might have forgotten: in this place, we worship God, and that is all that really matters.