Saturday, October 18, 1997

In sanctuaries, one can find comfort

By Ken Garfield

Knight-Ridder Newspapers

My busy work life takes me into sanctuaries so often, I sometimes forget how much they mean to me. Maybe the same thing happens in your frantic routine. Maybe going to church, synagogue or mosque becomes just another item to cross off your too-long to-do list.

I had begun taking faith and worship for granted. I had started looking at sanctuaries as just another building in a booming landscape - a mall, a skyscraper, a house of worship.

I think that's why two different worship services I attended last week for personal reasons struck me so deeply.

A friend and I attended Rosh Hashanah services at Temple Beth El. We welcome in the Jewish new year together every year. I especially like the 6 p.m. service because it's full of energetic kids, doting parents and grandparents glad to be part of the family for the High Holy Days.

This year, I closed my eyes and listened to the choir in white robes sing like angels. The music took me back to my youth in Cedarhurst, N.Y., when Cantor Benedict winked at me from the pulpit as he sang the Hebrew prayers. He was a joker who made a kid feel special, particularly on the more joyful holidays. He never winked on Yom Kippur, the solemn occasion when we would come to atone for our sins.

At Temple Beth El, it felt good when Rabbi James Bennett began to pray for the ill by asking worshipers to call out the names of loved ones in need. It felt more like a community than a congregation. It reminded me of Friday nights growing up, when our family ended each week together, thanking God for life and each other.

I even squirmed a little during associate Rabbi Adam Morris' sermon, just like I did when I was 12 years old and the closing benediction seemed a lifetime away.

I remembered what it was to be a child of faith during those 1-1/2 hours. I hadn't felt the feeling in a long time.

The next day, my wife, Sharon, and I attended a memorial service for a dear friend from church.

Hundreds of Betty Jardine's loved ones gathered at Sharon Presbyterian Church to mourn her death and celebrate a life cut short, as so many are, by cancer. She was 69.

We laughed at anecdotes about Betty's shyness. We sang "Our God, Our Help in Ages Past." We read and reread the last line of the James Whitcomb Riley poem she asked to be printed on the back of the program: "Thanks - So fine a time! Goodnight."

I looked at her children and grandchildren dabbing their eyes with tissues. Years from now, I thought to myself, they will still cling to these 45 minutes of support among friends.

I drove back to the office, thinking about the two services and wondering where all this emotion inside me was coming from.

I think I understand now.

The Rosh Hashanah service at Temple Beth El helped rekindle a connection to my childhood. It moved me to appreciate my roots more. It brought back elusive memories of simpler times.

The memorial service at Sharon Presbyterian moved me to see how much comfort there is to be found in sanctuaries. Whatever the burden and whatever the religion, a house of worship can offer refuge like no place else.

One service reminded me where to go to find myself. The other reminded me where to go to find others. I feel better finding both.

(Ken Garfield is the religion editor at The Charlotte Observer. Write to him at: The Charlotte Observer, 600 S. Tryon St., Charlotte, NC 28232.)

(c) 1996, The Charlotte Observer (Charlotte, N.C.).

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