Observation

Akin to the notion of "Perspective" is that of "Observation". To be able to widen our perspectives, we need to have the ability to observe our surroundings and to absorb the nuances.

I had a recent assignment to go into a foreign social space and to observe the complexities of social interaction. I was to become a human sponge.

Below is the narrative account of my experience. My chosen environment: A Catholic Church. In normal type is my concrete observation, in italics are my personal thoughts... thus an attempt to differentiate self from situation, recognizing that my perspective is a personal experience.




I enter the church late. The service began at 9:30 am, and I imagine that it is around 9:37 now. The people seem undisturbed by my tardiness, and I notice that other people trickle in after I do. I take my seat in the back; I am on the left side looking down linear pews toward the front. I am thirty or forty rows back, with only five pews behind me. I feel secure at the back, close to the door.

The church is massive, and the number of people here are not enough to fill ten percent of the available seating. The people seem randomly sprinkled towards the front, getting fewer and fewer towards the back. Many sit with their coats still on. Perhaps for a quick getaway?

Those who come alone sit in the back with me. Is there an implicit rule that the lonesome must sit at the back? Perhaps we are not lonely, but at this moment, just alone. Are they missing spouses? Lovers? Parents? Children? Those who sit in front seem to be in groups of two or three; I see grey hair and bald spots.

I take a breath and relax. My nose is filled with old wood and varnish and dust. My feet are cold from the walk. I wonder…is it the temperature in the church that keeps them chilled? The pew is firm beneath me, and stretches high to my shoulders.

At the front a young woman sings a melody in a minor key. The tension builds and then is resolved in a familiar melodic progression. It is melancholy, yet calming. Her arms sway up and down, conducting the crowd to sing with her. Yet I can’t hear anyone else sing, and I question whether the people in front are joining.

The man who is leading the service is dressed in a long green robe and glasses that hide his eyes. He begins to address the congregation en francais. Bordering on being animated, his arms raise while he speaks, as if to punctuate his phrases. I wonder what his life has been like… how and why does one become a religious leader? The congregation responds to his words when necessary; knowing when to talk, stand, or kneel, and when raise their hands to their foreheads, down to their bellies, and then from side to side.

I attempt to copy their actions but wonder if I stick out as much as I think I do.

The priest continues speaking. Do his hands ever tire of talking? The congregation sits like lawn ornaments staring at a snappy sprinkler shooting water over dry grass. I sense a tiredness in the air, yet the priest barely pauses for a breath.

But then the priest does pause; the people cross their chests, and the organ breaks the silence with a loud sorrowful song. Perhaps this is my interpretation of sorrow. I turn and see the enormous organ, high behind me. I feel small beside it’s grandeur.

Again the people kneel to pray, a child cries, the priest sings, the harmonic tension builds from the organ, and the moment is climaxed by the sudden ringing of church bells that seem to express a spiritual orgasm. Silence again.


A man and a women walk up the aisles collecting money in a round brass container, it looks like an upside down hat. I say a small prayer that I will be invisible. I have not brought money, and feel guilty for stealing observations, but giving nothing.

Now people begin to greet each other with handshakes and smiles. My heart rate increases, as I perceive a threat to my anonymity. I keep my eyes to the paper, missing the opportunity to observe the congregation, but managing to escape interaction. I feel guilt again… Am I exploiting their religious practice? Would it have hurt to say “hi”?

After the greetings, the congregation begins to move. They leave their pews and move towards the center aisle, like small creeks flowing together to form a river and moving towards the ocean. They approach the front, accept a small disk, dip it in a glass, and place it in their mouths. They cross their chests and return to a kneeling position in their pews while the young woman begins to sing again. Her voice is gentle; the word “amour” resonates amoungst the others that are sung.

The priest speaks again; this time it feels like a conclusion, which brings a sense of closure to a spiritual experience. Or was it a religious experience? What is the difference? The organ cries loudly now, releasing the people into the world. I write in frenzy, trying to absorb everything. The doors open. It is cold. The priest starts talking to individuals in the congregation. He moves closer to me. I pack up quickly and slip out, hoping that I am unnoticed.