Isaac, the brave

When you think about it; your life is all you'll ever know. You only know what you see, what you feel. Empathy doesn't exactly work in this world. You might think what emotions you have felt are comparable to others but you'll never know. You'll think the pain that you've felt is the hardest that ever existed and you'd think you're right because you'll never actually know. A broken leg may well be more painful than 3 fractured ribs injured in different circumstances, but you'll never know.  So you might as well be right. 

In a sense, I've always thought, it gives you a feeling of empowerment. You feel like you're (for want of a better word) the 'chosen one'. The human who was meant to feel explicit emotions. And because you only know you, you feel like you have to do something. Be someone. Change the world. And moreover, you may feel as though you have the power to carry it through. 

Forgive me if I'm confusing you, this has always been a hard concept to explain. 

There was a little boy who was the son of a couple who attended the church that I began to at University. The boy was Isaac and he was about 2 years old but he'd spent much of his life fighting chest infections amongst other illnesses I was too new to know about. 

My last service in the church was on the 2nd Sunday of Advent and his mother attended. The priest called her to the front half way through the service and we did a communal prayer. For her son. It was incredibly spiritual - everyone holding out their hands to this mother, assenting at particular parts of the prayer. And when it was over the room was flushed with tears. 

Holding out my hand to her, I felt like I could change her son's life. This force, power and compassion was channelled through my hands. I had the feeling of empowerment. The belief that I was the chosen one. That I had the power to make things right. 

And so, when I received an email entitled 'Isaac', it was with regret that I opened it. All other updates of his progress had been; Isaac - a bad evening. Or Isaac - in Paediatrics Intensive Care. But I knew what a heading like Isaac meant. 

Indeed he had passed away. The power I had felt in praying for his mother seemed futile. Hopefully it had helped but it hadn't saved him. Like I thought it could have. 

The world is a bizarre place. You are led to feel emotions that don't materialise. Who knows what powers each individual has. Who knows how different we are from who we think we are. 

For Isaac, nothing more can be done. Nothing but prayer. Please pray for his family; his parents, those who knew him, those who loved him. And him; Isaac - a brave young boy with the most gorgeous smile, a loving family and life cut too short. 

Finding your sanctuary

University leaves so much unlocked potential for the individual. Societies, clubs, clubbing, new faces, lectures. The increased freedom and focus on self can lead, either, to a slow but sure regression or - in the majority of cases - a bountiful exertion of one's happiness and ambition.

With a routine, that I have now had to plan myself, the importance of management is evermore crucial. This morning I set off to rekindle my love of the church. It was a small affair; not many in the way of congregation numbers - well, certainly fewer than I had previously known. But what was lacking in individuals was made up in general happiness, ambiance and devotion.

I sat as far from the altar as could be. Not for dislike of being new, but for the simple reason of losing my voice when the hymns began. Singing, largely, was never a quality I admitted owning, despite the 'pop star' phase of year 3 - a career move I took very seriously.

So I sat and stood to sing when the time came, all the while, during organisational pauses, taking in the peachy coloured walls, the static of the chairs, the decked flooring. It certainly wasn't the image of a typical church, save for the religious memorabilia decorating the hall and the willing congregation, amongst whom sat the formally dressed family and friends of a toddler who was to be baptised.

I got thinking in those moments; what is a church? This building didn't have the age-old, stained glass, musty smelling character of what is usually taken as a church. But did that make it an less of a church than an 17th century stoned work of architecture? It was, however informal, by definition, still a church.

Religion in general is an idea of concept. There is very little concrete about a service and other particulars. Of course, there are the formalities; holy scriptures and communions, declarations of faith and pilgrimages but those aren't the things that necessarily underpin religion and, more specifically to this case, a church. So, if it is only a matter of conception that creates religion and Gods, might we all go to church in some form or another regardless of whether we are religious or not?

In its simplest terms, a church is a place of worship. A more close-fitting definition would be a common place of worship. Is this then applicable to a commodity such as a bed?

Who doesn't like bed? Or sleep for that matter? A minority of the human race. The bed is a place of common love.

In church, our reason for being is God. In bed our reason for being, mostly, is sleep. In such circumstances, therefore, our beds are like our own personal churches. My bed will not be the same as yours. Though it may look the same, the meaning of it will be different. Yet, you and I are commonly joined in the notion of going to bed and sleeping. Similarly, my notion of God will not be the same as yours. Perhaps, you don't even believe in God. Or you may not believe in just one but many. Still, whatever your values, we are joined in thinking and evaluating the world through our own dynamic system of beliefs.

When you're welcomed into a Parish, such as I was this morning, you are given a wider appreciation and room to think. You don't have to agree with the conventions of service or practice because every worship is different.

I suppose, in the end, what is important, however, is that you, eventually, find your own sanctuary and church whether it be in the actual building, with you family and friends, or in that bowl of warm buttered popcorn sitting beside you.