Looking and seeing

Three men walk into a bar... and realise they've wandered into an old church by mistake.

The first looks around at the funny costumes of the people in charge and the Medieval artwork, and sees only antiquated superstition. He puts out some candles and comments loudly on how he hasn't been struck by lightning yet.

The second man is genuinely bemused to see so many people of all ages in the pews but is impressed by their enthusiasm and sincerity. Ultimately, he is encouraged that they have found purpose. It isn't the kind of purpose he wants for himself but, hey, if it works for them...

The third glances towards the front and sees a wooden carving of a man upon a cross. For a moment, despite being no more broken nor afraid than the other two, he looks into the face of God. In those eyes are suffering and compassion, love and justice, freedom and sacrifice, the beginning and the end...

The moment fades but somehow everything still seems different. After a few minutes of contemplation, the man gets up and leaves, exactly the same as when he entered, yet changed forever.

The other two hang around waiting for the punchline.

Upstairs at St Margaret's

What they were thinking when they built St Margaret's I'll never know. High and dingy it is, like our old school hall that used to double as a gym in the winter. It's probably about as old too and they knocked the school down years ago. Can't knock a church down, though, wouldn't be right. Wouldn't want them too, any road. Just wish they'd liven it up a bit, that's all; put up some paintings like the Catholics have, maybe. Dark wood and peeling green paint just gives me the urge to do press ups.

I always sit up in the gallery - always have. Used to be others up there with me, of course. Now I'm the only one. I still sit in the same pew, mind, two rows back from the rail and over to the side, so I can see the people downstairs but not so far forward that if I drop one of my sweets it'll hit someone on the head. Makes people laugh when I tell them that but old Mrs Arbuckle still hasn't forgiven me for those dolly mixtures and it's been thirty years I've been sitting in this seat. It feels like home now. I like to think I've worn some little hollows into, just the right shape for my own backside and nobody else's. Jack Renfrew says that's daft but I never said it were true - I just like to think it.

Any road, I had a strange experience a few weeks back. A young man came up to the gallery just as I were getting settled down. Watching out of the corner of my eye, I did feel a bit jealous. In my time, I wasn't bad looking, back when I needed a whole handful of Bryl cream rather than the quick spit I use these days. Yeah, a bit of grooming, a shirt and tie, I polished up to be a right shiny penny - only a penny, mind - but for a Saturday night at the Regalia that was enough to bring them flocking. This bloke, though, he looked like he'd been lifting weights down the gym and I don't know where he spent the winter but it weren't round our way. Must've been one of those sunny paradise places 'cos his face was what they call bronzed, his chest too, where you could see it through his robe. That were a bit strange now that I come to think of it, he weren't really dressed for St Margarets. Mr Jacobs - that's our treasurer - says we'll get the heating fixed just as soon as Miss Ramsbotham dies and we get our hands on the bequest she's always promising. I reckon, if she knows what's good for her, she'll hand over the money now and save catching her death one Sunday.