Sojournaling my Truth

Before et avant le Meeting, le Mormon Sacrament Meeting de mon enfance. The Church of Jesus Christ des Saints des Derniers Jours en Utah. Sunday 10 AM. The building (architecture repeated around the world—ainsi on n’achète qu’un seul plan) grass seasonal plants satellite dish and tall spire. Le parking. Neighbors arriving at the same time on foot or in their cars people stop to chat bonjour Neighbor bonjour Sister Tel-et-tel bonjour Brother MachinTruc some are busy and run ahead. The men wearing dark suits white shirts ties women in colors dresses or skirts and many children. Boys, too, wear white shirts (quelques uns portent des chemises en couleur mais le plus souvent c’est le blanc) ties sometimes even suit jackets. Girls too in dresses skirts and helping with younger siblings.  Everyone carries thick scriptures, women carry bags overflowing with things to occupy the children during the meeting, les enfants veulent courir parfois il le font et les mères crient—on s’inquiète qu’ils salissent leurs vêtements de dimanche. Le soleil brille. Quatre entées possible all lead directement ou par long couloir to one of the two sides of the large meeting hall the chapel the sacrament room. Classrooms along the sides, lining the halls. Women’s restroom to one side, men’s on the other. Sounds in the hallways echo grey tiles white painted bricks wooden classroom doors Sunday School Room Relief Society Room Nursery Room Kitchen Bishop’s Office foyer avec divan et fauteuil, coatroom, images venant du Bible ou du Book of Mormon sur le mur, images de Jesus et du Prophète Joseph Smith. Musique venant du chapel, organ or piano music (not just music but also singing if you are late). À la grande porte des hommes grands et droits, très vertical like the spire outside parfois de jeunes hommes de douze ans, de quatorze ou de seize ans. Parfois le très vieux Frère C***, celui qui a perdu deux doigts de sa main droite in a childhood accident that happened on the very farm which has now been sold, subdivided and turned in to our neighborhood dont cette église est le centre. On ne veut jamais lui serrer la main à cause des doigts qui manquent. Always tall men at the door to shake your hand and call you by name as you enter. Someone hands you a folded paper program purple mimeograph ink that still smells warm and sharp and that stains your fingers.

Where to sit? Rows of pews arranged in three sections, two shorter sets on each side and a long one in the middle, smiling faces anxious faces friends family enemies hated rivals schoolmates babysitters teachers everyone you know and they know you, some sit close together some far apart. Strangers are noticed and everyone stares (but they pretend not to). Some families always sit in the same place every week some people compete for the best spots. No one wants to sit in the overflow seating at the back (hard folding chairs no hymn books). The walls of the room are bare white brick no images anywhere pas de vitraux only polished wood and at the front of the room the shining organ pipes small friendly holes of the little pipes gaping menacing holes at the tops of the largest pipes create a Z up the wall with the tallest deepest pipes at the top. So much movement and buzz of conversation over the music bodies shuffling children talking too loudly shifting feet scoot over make room. Everyone looks to see who is here. The families with lots of children take up entire rows, adults and older children spread out amongst the little ones. Les enfants want their mothers to open the bags of coloring books and snacks—now—mais sagement les mères leur disent non non et dix fois non, sachant que les enfants s’ennuieraient avant même que le meeting commence. A mother passes her new baby to the next-door neighbor, une femme d’un certain âge dont les enfants are long grown and living far away. We all know these things les uns des autres. The older woman smiles, dorlote l’enfant, holds the little one hungrily while the mother looks on (a little possessively, but graciously).

At the front of the room a platform speaker’s podium sometimes fresh flowers choir chairs (face au public) organ piano wooden display of numbers for today’s hymns 30 174 232 165. Something about the music changes becomes louder and more commanding then the mother reclaims her baby and la femme d’un certain âge settles back in her seat guettant toujours le petit. Teenagers sulk into place next to impatient parents and wiggling younger siblings. The tall men in suits close the doors et marchent ensemble vers l’étage. Come, Come, Ye Saints, the meeting is beginning.