Si tu revenais

 

There were so many people at the gym this morning.  Older folks, married couples, kids, teenagers crowding near the weight racks  chatting by the circuit machines, stretching and planking and doing box jumps on one foot.

I'm not used to being in the gym on Sunday mornings.  For decades, ever since I was in college, Sunday mornings were all about worship. That's what clergy do, isn't it? And I am. Clergy, that is. Mostly a journalist, but also a pastor, when called on.

That is, until church itself becomes an unsafe place. 

I'm not attending right now, either online or in person. I assume I'll go back at some point. I could go into the reasons now, but I'm not willing to lay it all out there at the moment.  Besides, there's too much up in the air. 

The pain, though, is rather constant. 

But in the heat of a workout I don't need to think. Thinking is costly. I save that for the middle of the night when I awake and cannot go back to sleep for hours, unsure of whether I'm having revelations or an anxiety attack.

At the moment, I'm caught up in the crowd that spends their Sunday mornings lifting and sweating and catching up with their friends. It feels, if not wrong, very peculiar. Am I taking a step towards something? Or away from it?

It's not a lack of faith in the character and words of Jesus that keeps me from the pews. Oh no. I just don't see much evidence of his work in the institution right now.  "I love Jesus, but I can't stand the church," I said to a friend a few months ago.  "You and every other millennial," he said with a chuckle (meet the MOST geriatric millennial). 

At the moment, it's personal. Very personal. 

For now  I'm slipping in and out of the Wellness Center like a shadow, hoping to be unnoticed.  After a quick word of greeting to the attendant, I put on my headphones.  There's relief in being anonymous.

I'm  not totally unnoticed. Now and then, a man (probably thinking of what he's going to have for breakfast) will glance at me.  A few women will try to engage me in conversation. Most of the people I knew well haven't returned to the gym yet (or ever). I recognize almost no one here today.

Walking over to the treadmills, I jump on and turn my back on the crowd. No one will talk to me here.

The room is full, but it still has room for ghosts.  I see them lingering by the AMT, hanging out by the filing cabinet, chatting in the shelter of the office door.  Time to jack up the pace here.

French pop music floods my headphones. For a few moments, the room fades away, and it's just me and the movement and the music.

On a Sunday morning, when I should be with my "tribe" in a consecrated space, I am just another woman exercising hard, and at peace, for a moment, with being alone - even with my memories. Sometimes that will have to suffice. '

Mais si jamais
Si tu revenais
Dis rien, laisse à l'entrée les mots
On sait jamais

Si tu revenais
C'est comme si l'on ouvrait tous mes volets
Le soleil aussi reviendrait

Here's an informal translation of this refrain from the gorgeous song by French pop singer Patrick Fiori:

But if you come back, don't say a word, leave the words behind

If you come back, it's like all the shutters were flung open

The sun will return.

Take a listen. 

Even if you don't understand all the words, you will catch the spirit.