Kindness Out From Behind the Pillars

Sitting behind the old church pillar, in a large and lively London church, I could listen and observe and choose not to come out and play or even make friends. With all my heart, I knew God could see me. I just didn’t want anyone else to.

Those were the days of filing out after a service through the main door. We shook hands with the Vicar. Often I’d shake hands with him three times on a Sunday.

One such Sunday, the Vicar stopped me.

“Were you here earlier?” His gentle eyes crinkled with wisdom.

“Yes,” I answered as if I’d been caught sneaking into a country club where I hadn’t paid my dues. “ The music is so healing and I need to hear your sermon several times before I get it.”

“Oh bless you,” and he took my hand in his two hands and smiled right in my eyes.

Eventually I picked up a leaflet or two about mid-week activities. These weren’t the sort of events where you had to hide your struggling self. Some Christian events can be all about having a picnic, getting to know people gradually and letting your personal challenges come out as you pick up the signals that you’re not too much. This was different. The leaflets stated the struggles loud and clear.  It was the nice bits of you that were to emerge as they developed. This church had a group for every night of the week.

Monday was relationship recovery group. Tuesday was all about food. Wednesday was alcohol. Thursday and Friday were the sex or gambling addictions. What I knew from this offering by the reception desk was that healing was available with God.

After a month or so of attending a group, the recovery leader arranged for us to sit with her at the Sunday evening service. Normally not encouraged to “bag places” she saved seats with bits and pieces of her belongings. A handbag. A scarf. A cardigan. One by one we arrived and also set out coats, bags, and books to reserve a chair for one another. Men and women, we took up two rows.

I’m not sure it was that night, but it was close enough for me to remember it as one; the Vicar said something that was quite profound concerning where we sat in church. He was speaking to the whole church, but it was for me.

“I just delight....” he had that smile again, “I just love when I see...when I see people moving from the back of the church, even from behind pillars....moving down the aisle, sitting well into the centre. Everyone is most welcome. Sometimes it takes time.”

This week is Mental Health Awareness Week 2020, and the theme this year is Kindness. During this time of pandemic lockdown, I’m wondering if any of us writers have thought about or attempted to have a little “Pillar Time.” I don’t mean writing about the virus itself, many of us will have journaled if not published articles on the topic. I mean watching others or observing ourselves and processing our own emotions and gaining courage to include these reflections in an inclusive writing.  Perhaps we have watched how others have handled strength in isolation, or lack of hugs, or even grief. Perhaps we could choose to take those observations and develop our characters for a short story or novel. Perhaps we could choose to come a little ways from out behind a pillar of hiding our own emotions, not knowing if there is a place for a type of writing that shows kindness for mental health and wellbeing challenges. Perhaps this type of writing needs a seat way down in the middle of the congregation.

Kathleen is the author of “Beyond Broken Families, “Parents on the Move!,  and co-authored “The Miracles of Pierrepont.” She has a Master’s Degree in Social Policy and is currently writing her final essay for a Certificate in Theology at Spurgeon’s College, London. The light of her life are two little grandsons and her recreation includes riding pillion on her husband’s motorbike.