It is cold and dark but still I step out of the car, drawing my coat tighter around me while crossing the mostly empty parking lot. Ascending three stairs and pulling open the heavy door, I slip inside.
An hour a week, set apart.
Monday nights, although it could be any day or any night – any time at all, really.
Once inside, a hush envelopes as I exhale into silence. Dimness casts geometry shadows on domino pews edging the aisle to the altar, bathed in light. I pad noiselessly past the other people who stopped here, too.
Maybe for life, for light, for silence, for answers, to speak, to listen.
Who knows why?
There are as many reasons as people.
I slide into a worn pew, soft chanting from somewhere wafts around me and I settle onto the kneeler. Before me is the monstrance – haloed in light and just
perfectly still, perfectly quiet, perfectly there
for you who might step into that space and wrap its essence around you like a comfortable cloak, and think about what you may.