Choir Room

Choir Room

There's no one in the room. A lone set of bongos sit on the floor, almost aesthetically beneath a uniform, ticking clock. Blue robes line the wall, contrasting the uncomfortable silent beige aura of the room. There are many folders that are only identifiable by the name 'Holy Week'. They seem to be in the correct order, but several folders are missing. 1, 10, 14, 20, 28, 34, 35, 40, and 0. The peeled skins of missalettes lay in a pile. They are not fresh, but they are not old. There's a white board with only one symbol on it. I can hear laughter. It's resonating from the old gym. Old lights, dim lights, chuckling about the experience of faith through a soft recorded voice played over a concerning video. It's quieter now. It's never silent. Not in a church. There's always something there, making noise. It echoes. I think that's how churches are meant to be made. So that worshippers never feel alone. Even though they are.