After church last Sunday, I picked up my phone and took a short tour through a door and into history. I snapped a couple of pictures of what I saw.
Like an old car sitting in a field or a suit that hangs in the closet for years and years, the entrance to the oldest part of the church remains unused, an entrance used as decoration. There was a time when Sunday arrived, hundreds of people filed through the doors, bringing with them hopes and fears, leaving, perhaps, changed.
The Memorial Chapel is used each week, but few go behind the scenes. You pass through a door and into a small room which leads to a hallway. From there you can see the door to outside is barred shut. Now, now one enters, no one leaves. We all enter through the much newer "modern" doors (the most recent door on the rest of the building is around forty years old...) without thinking about it. We go inside--we leave when we're finished.
Tomorrow the back of the chapel will once again be neglected by parents and children. It will remain a quiet place, a place removed from noice and little children's sticky fingers. It's a space alone in its memories.
