I was at church today, attending the funeral service of a work colleagues husband. I didn't know him, and I hardly know my workmate well enough to be of any comfort in such a situation. Nonetheless I went, in a show of quiet support. Whatever that meant.
God may well strike me down for saying so, but I don't really get the sense of importance I figure I am supposed to gather from the priests words. Don't get me wrong, the church itself is beautiful, the colours of the stained glass are stunning, the light streaming in the windows just so, illuminating the crowd is, for want of a better word - magical. But inside it is cold and empty; a beautiful barren hall.
I don't believe I need to be in a church to feel God, to feel spiritual. I don't believe I can connect to the man at the front, speaking verses I don't comprehend. I started to think about what I'd want for myself. Would I want a church service, where the priest stretches truths to make me sound like a wonderful Christian? It may be a comfort to family, but would it best represent me?
My attention turned to the golden cabinet at the front of the church. Hidden away behind a modest curtain, sits that wonderful gold chest that must keep special things more special. As a child, I often wondered about it, and to this day I wish to peek inside and know its secrets.
And I wonder, do we all have golden cabinets - perhaps locked inside our hearts? What do we keep there? Secrets we know; truths we don't? If someone opened up my golden chest, what might they find? I hope they would find my dreams - I hope they would set them free like butterflies. I hope what might be found are all the things I hope to be and all the things I am. I hope there would be a measure of my love and a shattering, blinding light so bright, it would mark all that it touches.
I hope I get to share my little golden cabinet.