The day I looked God in the eye

I attended a church service the other day.  Does this mean I’m turning into a god-botherer?

It wasn’t any small church either.  It was the landmark and tourist trap that is Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral.

Ok, in truth I was in need of a wee, so I popped into the cathedral.  No, not to find a random corner to pee in, but to use their nicely kept toilet facility complete with modern air blade hand driers.  So, that’s what I did.

Now, the Anglican Cathedral was only finished in 1978, with other sections being completed in the 1940s, yet you could look at it and imagine it’s been there for centuries rather than decades.  The architecture is extremely striking and very precise.  Strangely enough, it was designed by the same bloke who designed the original red telephone boxes that foreigners consider epitomise Englishness.

So, wandering out of the toilets after a good play with the air blade hand driers (playing with drying my hands, nothing else, ok?), I got distracted by a photographic exhibition.  Basically this consisted of random blown-up pictures of different animals or species of the world, or fossils, and random quotes from different famous names on the subject of DNA, evolution, and comprehension.  It looked like it had been put together by a teenager playing mind-games with its art tutors.

Blimey, surely this represented everything that religion warns its drones about?  I mean, according to those who control the thoughts of the god-fearers, the earth (and the universe and all that malarkey) was only created 6,000 years ago.  It somehow didn’t seem to be the right place for such an exhibition to be housed.

As I shuffled about looking at it, an announcement from the other end of the cathedral came asking everybody to stop taking photos and to not wander about whilst the service was on.  This was followed by funeral type noises wailing out of the organ.  It was the start of Evensong.

I’ve never ever attended a religious service in my entire life, so like a ninja I moved myself to the back of approximately a thousand chairs for where the audience would sit.  (Not ‘audience’, ‘congregation’.  I don’t know, do I?  I ain’t no god-botherer!)

Anyway, soon about 30 men dressed in strange white and purple long dresses shuffled into some special seats in the stage or performance area, and after a while they started singing.  Now, this stage area was really badly laid out.  In front of all the action was an annoyingly long table with two large candles and a large tablecloth draped over it. Together they were completely blocking the view.  Plus the singing men were positioned sideways on to the audience, er, congregation.

It was at this point as their strange spooky wails echoed around the place that I realised that there was no congregation.  Ok, I tell a lie.  There were two very old couples sitting away from each other at the front.  And there was me standing against a wall right at the back.

When the singing stopped some voice came through the speakers reading some god book stuff.  Look as hard as I could I just could not see where the owner of the voice was standing.  I mean, usually they stand behind a lectern, right, or up in a raised shouting at drones pulpit area.  He was nowhere to be seen.  Yet, he dutifully read different passages and did prayer stuff, and had the two couples standing up and sitting down at different times, and I assume joining in with the mumble of  ‘amen’ every so often.

Now, this whole process went on for an annoyingly long time.  The songs the choir men were singing were downright depressing, and the monotone voice reading the bits inbetween didn’t help either.  Lordy, it was an event to commit suicide to.

And, as I say, it was an event attended by 4 people.  Well, 5 people if you include me watching from the back.

I can only assume that what I was witnessing was Christianity in its death throes.  I mean, this is the main place of traditional worship in the whole of Liverpool, and yet there really was nobody attending.  Yeah, I’m sure lots more attend on Christian diary events like Easter and Christmas, but if Christianity was thriving surely it would have more than 4 people in the congregation outside of the blue cross sale days?

Ok, if I’d popped into the Catholic equivalent (known locally as “Paddy’s wigwam”), it may well have had more god-fearers attending, and if I’d have tried the mosque I’d have hit the main Friday prayers day, so I’d not have gotten near the toilets.  However, this whole service did seem completely pointless and an extreme waste of money.