The sounds of Psalm 46... mountains shaking and trembling, seas foaming, nations in uproars, kingdoms tottering, the voice of God that “melts the earth”, bows breaking, spears shattering, and shields burnt.
The sounds of Heathrow...conversations of people walking by talking to one another or to invisible Bluetooth conversation partners, announcements in various languages about boarding or closing gate doors, music emanating from restaurants or from unmuted personal speakers, children laughing (and crying), something dangling from my backpack making a clicking noise with each step, and of course the sounds of planes flying overhead.
And ahead... A nondescript door in between a secure office entry and a place to fill a water bottle. The Multi-faith Prayer Chapel on a Sunday morning in the second full week of Lent when I’d normally still be sleeping preparation for Sunday services. The door opens loudly as I push it open and it latches just as loudly behind me as I enter.
Silence. No sounds of the airport. No jets. No announcements. No conversation. No music. Just the sounds of my black Merrill shoes on the worn carpet.
Psalm 46...
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still and know that I am
Be still and know
Be still
Be
To my right are two front-to-back rows of what look to be cast off rest area chairs facing a simple table with a cross. Hanging on the cross are a few charms presumably centering on several saints.
Moving further there a room, again on the right, with rugs on the floor and a marker on the floor giving direction towards Mecca. Same faded carpet beneath the prayer rugs but to the left are cubbies for Muslims to leave their shoes for prayer. Next to it is a curtained-off area with several more rugs, presumably to allow for separate prayer spaces for women and men.
Again, absolute silence and stillness. I am alone in this space. Or at least in the only person in the space. The divine is present as well.
I turn to walk out and see a bulletin board sharing options for other faiths beyond Christianity and Islam as well as the door to the airport chaplain’s office. Who knew that Heathrow had a chaplain?!
But before I walk out I stop and walk to the table with the cross. I run my hand over the wood and touch the cross and the charms. I sit in the front orange chair and quietly read this Psalm aloud and come once again to the ending.
Be
Be still
Be still and know
Be still and know that I am
Be still and know that I am God
I take a deep, slow breath and return to the loud door, I turn the handle and hear the same loud noise opening the door but this time it is far louder because there aren’t other competing noises and when it closes behind me, the clack isn’t nearly as pronounced. The sounds of the airport flood in and even the air feels different. In the chapel, the air felt warm and comforting. Outside in the terminal, it is cool and sterile. I look up and see that the gate in front of me now shows our flight to Dublin. I need to rejoin the many others rushing through the terminal to gather my family members. We have a flight to catch.
Grace, Peace, Love, and Joy,
Ed
This reflection is beautiful and I was with you there. Two different worlds. We live with one foot in and one foot out. Its tough but when we enter either of them as a poet or a prayer we are transported and a transporter.
Oblique perspective I would never have had since I no longer travel. Thank you. A prayer station like this in the metropolis might help us. Same God = same human beingness.