Our Lady of Everything

by Susan Finlay

  On a scale of one to ten, one meaning strongly disagree and ten meaning strongly agree, please record your responses to the following statements:

  1: My religious affiliations are an important part of my identity.

  2: My religious practices help me to preserve my culture.

  3: My religious beliefs inform my political beliefs.

  He would then switch on the recording equipment that he had borrowed from the geography department, and ask each member of the group not only to explain the reasons for their responses, but also to try to elicit the key words and phrases that each one of these questions had evoked – all of which would then be recorded on a flipchart pad while people strongly agreed, or disagreed, with the aforementioned words or phrases, or else doodled on their forms.

  Now, however, David pushed all thoughts of his notes to one side, and instead looked up at the high vaulted ceiling and then down at the criss-crossing tiles on the floor, none of which appeared to have any relation to his research despite the fact that both the Polish Community in Sneinton and the Irish Community in The Meadows frequented, and worshiped in, the space. He knew, from the book that Kathy had lent him, that most of the Cathedral was built in the plain Gothic style, but he could already see something up ahead that belonged to the more foreign, and therefore decorative variety. Instinctively he made his way towards this other, semi-separate room. Votive candles half lit the space and a large gold object, reminiscent of a Fabergé egg, wrapped in miniature velvet curtains was placed, centre stage, upon the altar. He was just about to kneel down in front of it, and attempt to lose himself in the incense and candle flicker, when an old lady, not dissimilar to the one he had seen with Stan and Kathy, tapped him on the shoulder and ushered him outside. He watched as she pulled what looked like a child’s safety gate across the entrance and then, before he could even ask her what the problem was, she locked it.

  ‘Are you new?’ she whispered, and David nodded.

  The old lady nodded back and then pressed a hymnbook into his hands before shuffling him into a pew right at the front of the church. David waited and, as soon as she was out of sight, stood up, eager to move nearer to the back. Yet before he could do so the rest of the congregation rose around him, singing a hymn which, not being of the vague and flowery kind he had sung at school, he was unable to join in with. As the service progressed, he watched out for when those on either side of him stood or knelt or sat, and then followed suit a few seconds after. He felt a little sad to realise that the drama and sorrow (or opulence and poverty) that he had anticipated was lacking, and that the mass consisted, by and large, of ordinary, English people . . .

  We believe in one God,

  The Father, the Almighty,

  Maker of heaven and earth,

  Of all that is seen and unseen.

  We believe . . .

  Suddenly David realised that those on either side of him had stood up again, and again he stumbled after them. We believe. We believe. We believe, they said. And each time a chain of events, real or imagined, followed in a waterfall of not quite history. He thought that it was beautiful – the chanting and the standing all at once, or nearly all at once, and nearly all together, but all together believing; and then he thought of how if only he too had known the words then he too would have said and tried to mean them.

  David stood and sat and knelt, and then he took communion and said ‘Amen’, which he knew had come from ancient Aramaic, via ancient Greek, via ancient Latin. He tried again to sing the hymns he didn’t know, and then sat down again and stood up again until everything had ended. He waited until the last of the altar boys had walked back down the aisle and the sound of the organ had ceased, and then he too genuflected, and made the sign of the cross, going up and down and side to side across his forehead, stomach and chest . . .

  ‘Are you new?’ said the priest, who was standing by the door with what could have been the same old lady.

  ‘Yes,’ said David, taking hold of the priest’s outstretched hand and almost dropping his hymnbook in the process. ‘And I’ve travelled quite some way to get here.’

  ‘Oh? Well I hope that we’ll be seeing more of you?’

  David tried to smile, then handed his hymnbook over, before walking back outside and into the fresh new darkness. As he scrutinised the other parishioners filing out alongside him, he thought once more about St Flannan’s, and then the Polish Mission, and then the Russian Orthodox Church, where there was sure to be not only golden eggs aplenty but also patriarchs, whose bearded appearance resembled the Warhammer dwarves . . . But then, just as he turned towards the bus stop, he ran directly into Stan.

  ‘Why you here Dave?’ he said.

  ‘Oh here?’ And suddenly David felt embarrassed. ‘Well I-I thought I’d, err, see what all the, err, fuss was about and, err . . . ’

  An old copy of The Economist fluttered into the gutter, the cover of which momentarily took up both of their attention. It depicted a hooded man standing on top of a box with electric wires attached to his hands. The magazine must have been at least six months old, and David had bought and read a copy of it at the time, but it was still an image that had the power to shock and to keep on shocking and accordingly he kept on staring at it, until Stan bent down and scrunched it up into a dirty, unintelligible ball of paper.

  ‘Bad business,’ said Stan, pushing the ball into a nearby bin, and then, ‘But you have the Jew’s name yes?’

  ‘Well, I mean, yes, my dad is. Was. Still is I suppose. But my mother isn’t and it’s, err, it’s passed down on your mother’s side you see so, err . . . ’

  ‘You lose people in Holocaust?’

  ‘Well I suppose so, somewhere along the way. I mean everyone has though, if you go far enough back, I, err, I mean . . . ’

  ‘No not everyone Dave. Jews.’

  David popped out another piece of nicotine gum, partly because the smell of Stan reminded him that he too wanted a cigarette and partly because it had now become his default mechanism whenever he couldn’t think of anything suitable to say. Stan watched him for a moment, then slapped his shoulder, as always a little too hard, before setting off back down Derby Road. After a few seconds he stopped, turned round and shouted, ‘You know the word you looking for?’

  David put the fresh piece of gum in his mouth and shook his head, while Stanisław flung out his sweaty arms and laughed.

  ‘Solidarność, Dave. Solidarność!’

  The Rite of the Discordiant Die

  THIS RITE PROVIDES A METHODOLOGY through which to disorder established belief systems based upon the Principia Discordia, or Law of Fives, in which it is stated that all things are directly or indirectly appropriate to five: the use of humour; randomness; and a pre-existing feedback survey. It is intended to function as a test of the magician’s ability to perform any version of any truth at a given point in time.

  STATEMENT OF INTENT:

  It is my will that I will believe what I believe for as long as I believe it.

  RITE:

  1. Open with the Unequal Opportunities Rite.

  2. Select five dice, all of which should be grey (i.e. an achromatic colour) so as to emphasise bureaucracy.

  3. Cast the first die, using the following formula: 1 = Monotheism, 2 = Polytheism, 3 = Atheism, 4 = Nihilism, 5 = Superstition. Remember, if you appear to have cast a six (i.e. a number that is neither below nor divisible by five), then you have created an illusion, and should therefore re-cast until the temporary and subjective truth that you want to appear, appears.

  4. Say the Statement of Intent.

  5. Cast the second die, equating odd numbers with inhibitory gnosis (yoga, meditation, trance work and so on), and even numbers with excitatory gnosis (dancing, chanting, sex, etc.).

  6. Repeat the Statement of Intent.

  7. Cast the third die, using the following formula: 1 = a minute, 2 = an hour, 3 = a day, 4 = a week, 5 = a month.

  8. Repeat the Statement of Intent.


  9. Cast the fourth and fifth dice and then add their scores together, equating the lower scores with varying levels of belief, the higher scores with varying levels of disbelief and five with neither belief nor disbelief, which being five is sacred (N.B. while there is a strong chance that a score that is neither below nor divisible by five may now occur, remember that truth, like illusion, is temporary, and accordingly the die need not be re-cast on this, different occasion).

  10. Using the results of the previous castings formulate a sentence that summarises the type, method, length and strength of your randomly generated belief system (e.g. ‘I strongly believe in the practice of nihilistic dancing for one week’).

  11. Repeat the Statement of Intent.

  12. Perform your sentence for as long as your sentence requires.

  13. Banish, very suddenly, by laughing, stopping abruptly, and then saying, ‘Well I mean it’s all very well saying that now, but at the time it made sense.’

  Exodus

  DR DAVID GOLDSTEIN HEADED STRAIGHT for the little half cellar in which his parents kept wine, and then selected a bottle of Burgundy, with which he intended either to celebrate or to commiserate – he was still not entirely sure which word to use – his second attempt to test the Kaosphere theorem. He had just returned from the synagogue, an experience that had left him feeling utterly disorientated, not just because the service had been difficult to understand, but also because it had been difficult to find out about, which in turn meant that it had been difficult to prepare for, all of which had, once again, made him feel like an outsider – although it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. In fact, he had left numerous messages prior to his visit, but neither the liberal nor the orthodox rabbi had answered; and yet when he had eventually brought this up with his father the old man had merely laughed and said well what did he expect – the Jews were a closed shop.

  Eventually David had had no choice but to resort to Wikipedia, or more specifically the page entitled Shabbat, after which he had asked his mother to light a candle because one of the hyperlinks had told him that on Friday night the women lit candles. And then he had attempted to bake a loaf of bread because another hyperlink had told him that on Friday night the women baked bread – only his mother had refused to help out with that one. And then on Saturday morning he had put on his suit, which was the same suit that he had had since sixth form but which was still too big on the shoulders, and headed off into town where Google Earth had shown him a picture of a former Wesleyan chapel now repurposed as a synagogue.

  Yet things had gone well upon arrival, in the sense that everything that he had initially encountered had tallied with what the Internet had told him. A basket of kippahs was set out on a table in the entrance, and likewise a rack of prayer shawls, so that David, like all of the other men milling round him, had been able to put on one of each, and then say the following words:

  ‘Barukh ata Adonai Eloheynu Melekh ha’olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav l’hitatef ba’tzitzit.’

  Which he had first heard via Rabbi Emma, via Williamsburg via YouTube, before typing it into Babelfish, which had more or less translated it as:

  ‘Blessed are you God, sovereign of the universe who has sanctified us with the commandments and commanded us to wrap ourselves in cotton fringes knotted in such a way as to indicate the oneness of God.’

  Which would have translated as row upon row of angular, back-to-front letters that ran from right to left had he been able to read, instead of merely analyse, Hebrew, the language of his father’s past.

  Once inside the sanctuary things had felt different, however. More mysterious, which he had instinctively equated with being more spiritual. He noticed that the space was segregated, and that all the women were sitting with covered heads in the gallery above, and also that there was a cupboard containing objects that, upon first glance, were not dissimilar to the Fabergé egg up at the Cathedral, although these, he discovered, contained not bread, or wafers, or possibly even God, but scrolls. When the cupboard was open everybody stood up, and when it was closed everybody sat down, which, in this one and possibly only respect made the service easier to follow. In the beginning he watched the cupboard, but then as time went on he began to look around him, and to notice the other scrolls, or rather the other representations of them. These were carved out of white marble, and then mounted on the surrounding walls, where the first fragments of text, written not in Assyrian script but incised Roman capitals, read:

  In everlasting remembrance

  Of the sons of this congregation

  Who fell in the Great War 1914–1918

  This inscription was followed by a list of 124 names, including a Gold, a Goldman and even a Goodman (but no Goldstein), as well as three men, presumably brothers, who all shared the surname Lazarus. David had expected a Holocaust memorial, not a war memorial, and the thought that these men had given their lives for England, as much as Israel, which at that time was still Palestine, meaning both a memory and a dream, was one that he found strangely moving. A profound sense of time simultaneously passing and standing still, of himself as both a passive and an active force within it, suddenly overcame him, and then just as suddenly he realised that the service, if it could be called a service, had ended . . .

  David poured himself a very large glass of the Burgundy, sat down at the kitchen table, and cut himself a slice of bread that, due to what he had now chosen to view as his mother’s disinterest, had not risen. He took a sip of wine, while contemplating whether or not the addition of marmalade could be considered in any way sacrilegious, when his father wandered in, in search of The Times.

  ‘Isn’t it a little early for that?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s kiddush.’

  David raised his glass in the same way that he might have done had he been saying ‘cheers’, while his father shook his head and laughed.

  ‘That’s not kiddush.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘It’s definitely not.’

  ‘Then show me.’

  There was an awkward pause, and then his father moved the bottle and glass out of the way. He covered the bread with a tea towel, and began to recite something in what David now recognised as Hebrew, but which, as far as he could remember, had not shown up on any of the Wikipedia pages. When he had finished he looked at David, who instinctively said ‘Amen’, and then he bowed his head, or maybe nodded. Then he went over to one of the cupboards and took out a cup and saucer, and began to pour in the wine until it ran over the top of the cup.

  ‘Watch out!’ said David.

  ‘HaShem’s blessing overflows into our lives.’ His father tipped a little of his cup back into David’s glass, and then chinked his against it. ‘Kiddish David.’

  ‘Oh, err, yeah. Cheers.’

  As David resumed drinking his Burgundy, he thought once more of his focus groups, and wondered what, if he himself were to attend one not as an observer but as a participant, his own answers would be now:

  1: My religious affiliations are an important part of my identity – five.

  2: My religious practices help me to preserve my culture – five.

  3: My religious beliefs inform my political beliefs – five.

  Five, five, five, thought David, which meant that he neither agreed nor disagreed with any of the statements that he had written for other people to answer, which meant that, had he been forced to include his own responses each one of them would have been as good as void. He took another sip of Burgundy, and then another, savouring the red, earthy taste and then, thinking of this and little else, he allowed the glass to slip from his hands, and overflowed onto the table.

  Exodus

  MARGARET O’SHEA STOPPED, STOOPED AND rubbed her knees, which as always ached. Then, when she stood up again, the sudden rush of blood to the head made her dizzy. She held out one arm, palm flat against the wall, and waited until the feeling had passed, and then, when she was just about right again, she carried on with the cleaning. She duste
d each of the ornaments, pausing only when she reached those on the mantelpiece. Then she picked up a pen and made a cross on the calendar, which meant that every square of October was now filled. As she looked at it she thought about the ways in which the days, which had turned into weeks, which had turned into months, were slowly filling up and drifting by while the roses, like the little blue figure in front of them, remained exactly the same as before.

  Margaret sat down on the edge of the settee and took out her rosary. She had said all four sets of all five mysteries, which added up to twenty mysteries each day, each day that Eoin had been away so far, which meant that she would have said 3,650 mysteries by the time he returned. Today she began, as always, with the Joyful Mysteries, which meant that she began by making the sign of the cross and saying the Apostles Creed; and then an Our Father; and then three Hail Marys; and that then she announced the First Mystery (which in this case was The Annunciation). Then she said another Our Father; and then she said another ten Hail Marys (while also trying to think about The Annunciation); and then she said the words ‘Glory be to the Father . . . ’ In an attempt to further prolong the experience Margaret had recently taken to also inserting an extra prayer, as requested by the Blessed Virgin at Fatima; and then afterwards, if there was still time, she put in a quick Hail Holy Queen. And then, more often than not, she went back to the cleaning.