She had been sat so still for ages, it intrigued me but at the same time I couldn't intrude. To the side of the massive altar at the Oratory of St Joseph a concrete passage led back into shadows except for a faint light silhouetting a single figure, sitting, I assume praying.
The basilica is all grey stone and shadows, the occasional spotlight drawing me like a moth. Its hush makes me sad rather than peaceful and I struggle to figure out why. I'm pretty sure God is no respecter of denominations, he resides where people love and long for him, but this just doesn't feel like home.
I wander about some more, taking in the stillness and fighting the almost overwhelming sense that I'm out of place and find myself at the side of the praying woman, her hands open and her lips moving. She reminds me of Hannah, and of every intimate moment I've had with Jesus and I'm moved by her. I try to see what she is praying before, wrought iron bars 1960s style create a sanctuary beyond and on the far wall something which shocks me and shakes me; unintentionally and graphically articulating my unease about this place. Its just a sanctuary in the making, a broom, a bin and a crucifix still waiting to be unwrapped, Christ in cling film.
I just wish I had had the guts to take a photo.
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