By Tess May
An inner monologue sitting inside St Stephen’s Basilica, Budapest, Hungary.
“I never know how to start these. I guess it’s because I never know if you’re listening. Though I imagine if you were to listen to me anywhere, this would be the place. It is so very beautiful.
There was a sign on the door that said ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’, which means ‘Give Us Peace’. I wonder if you will.
I can’t get over the grandness of this church. I wonder very much if you revel in its glory, or despise the nature of it. All this gold – it cost me $19.99 to even be allowed in here. Surely the money goes to the church’s upkeep, though I can’t help but think of the ways in which the money would be better spent. I think you’d agree with me, but I suppose that’s the irony of it all.
I wonder if that’s why I could never find true faith – no offence. The irony that is, well, you. The irony that runs so deep it is spilling out the altar in front of me. I meant what I said, I think, in that poem I wrote a few years ago – that you are very much like a girl in your idealism and your anger (that is to say, you are so very human). You – or at least as far as I’ve been taught – created this world to be a perfect place. You created beings perfect and free from all that could be bad – created them to be like you. And yet, when they did not show you gratitude, when things did not work as you had imagined, you stripped away this perfection, and left the world with people like me: silly little people, who spend their money on beautiful places to worship you, in the hopes that you will ‘give us peace’. It must have been a terrible mirror you saw that day, right at the start of time. You set a tone for this world when it had barely begun. That, I would wager, you didn’t realise until it was far too late. Do you fault yourself for being so quick to anger?
I also wonder if it was all truly a part of your plan, as the wise old men wearing robes seem to think. I wonder if you do truly have the power to bring us peace, or if maybe you know that peace is something we must all find for ourselves. In the same breath, I wonder how much power you really have. Because as The Creator, you have created a world that can create on its own. Is it you behind every birth, or did you create what is now a hands-off machine? I suppose that’s a sacrilegious thought, but I wonder all the same.
I wonder why you bless some more than others. I wonder why you’ve blessed me more than most. And I know I have not had an easy life, but if you were to place me on a chart I am certainly not naïve enough to expect to be anywhere near the lower half. But I also know that I am blessed to know I’m blessed. And I wonder why you can’t give everyone that.
I wonder about Mary. I wonder how she feels. I wonder if Jesus really was your son, or just a good guy, who believed in your goodness. I wonder if you love him because he saw things in you that you didn’t see in yourself. Maybe I’m making you too human in my head, but I think I like you better that way.
I’m sad to not believe in you, really. I’ve always been envious of the people who know to their core that they walk in your light. You must be such a comfort to them. I hope that you don’t disappoint them one day.
There are a few things that I know about you. Or I think that I know. I know to be kind. I know not to lie. I know to forgive.
I wonder if you forgive, truly. I think of the women suffering in ways that I have been fortunate not to suffer, living in very different parts of the world. Do you forgive the men who oppress them, since likely they have never known to behave differently? Why couldn’t you tell them to stop? Do you bless the women in ways I can’t see or know? Can you forgive yourself for creating a world like that for them?
I’m so full of questions, and at the same time I feel full of answers. In all my wondering, I feel quite strongly about what I suppose the answers to be. Which leaves me with one final wondering: do I know these answers because it is who I am, or because of who you are? Have you revealed yourself to me in such a way that I do know you, without knowing that I do, or are you simply everything that I am, because that is what I want you to be?
I wonder also if you have heard any of this. I hope you have. I’d like to think you did.
Oh, and while I’ve got you, one last thing: please look after my family on this earth. And please look after my loved ones in your kingdom, because if it does really exist, I know that is where they are.
And thank you, God, for this life. I truly am grateful.
Amen.”
Image Credit: St. Stephen’s Basilica, Budapest – official website