Lost in Church
written by: Camilla Lee Stambaugh
The day of the memorial service arrived. My boss assigned me to attend in his place, and while honored, I felt anxious. A funeral in general is somber, but a funeral for a seventeen-year-old girl, well, how will I get through it? It’s all so wretched.
As I drive toward the church, dreading it all, I see an oak stand of trees all fighting for space along the avenue, and soft morning light battling through packed branches. The sight triggers relaxing breaths; my mood lifts even more when a driver, hand out the window, plays the air with her fingers. This day might go ok.
Closer to the church, I see hundreds of lined-up mourners surge the sidewalks, looking like a pageantry of sadness. Stuck in backed-up traffic, I decide I need to talk to my sister.
Ann sighed on the other end, “I just don’t understand. A good home, headed to Gainesville in the fall, everything going for her… she decides to speed like a crazy person at midnight.” I say goodbye to Ann and put my phone on silent. At last, I find a parking space.
Once in line, I can’t see past all the people ahead. The rows of mourners move like a train stuck on its tracks. I know I’ll have enough time to sign the guest book—with time left over. “All my sympathy,” I write in my most confident script. I think back to the days when I worked with the mother; we’d lost touch; not on good terms anymore, different politics. She is a bigwig in the city, and I am up and coming. Awkward.
I hate all the elbowing and stepping on toes going on. I feel sweat on my face. Digging for a Kleenex, it’s refreshing to dab away the sweat. Yes, this will be tough duty. In spite of the sad crowd, I push on. What choice do I have? My kinship now is with all these flat-gazed mourners, our mission to find a seat.
HELLO!
Everyone has stopped suddenly. I have bashed my face against the hat I’ve been tailgating. Lord, my glasses may be broken! All these people are falling away into chairs. I have followed twenty strangers into a choir loft; I can’t turn around. Hundreds are watching.
Picking up my glasses, the singers’ squinting eyes are on me. Biting my lip, I keep from giving them an apology. This isn’t my fault; who designed this church anyway?
Moving further in from the congregation, I am bumping into here—and—there legs of the singers. Seeing the least-annoyed person, I lie. “I need to get back to my office. Is there another exit?”
The older choir member points to the back corner. I hadn’t noticed a door. Slumping forward, I look back and see choir members whispering… indubitably about me. I need a couple of deep breaths.
I tell myself to relax; there IS an exit ahead.
God, please let that door be unlocked.
Ah!
Once in, the room is dark, but I need to close the door to hide. Wait a minute. I’m in a broom closet!
I can barely see. “What the devil?”
There’s a tiny, scowling female sitting at a child-sized table, a broom in hand. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say.
This person doesn’t react.
“Is there another way out of the church? I need to get back to my office.” I lie again. The custodian’s expression tells me the only way out is the door I’ve just rested against.
My knees grow weak and weaker. Not minding my roommate, I turn to prayer, “Father in heaven, I’m not just here to represent myself; I’m here for the family and my boss. This death of a young woman is a tragic event, and I have messed up big time. Help me leave here without distracting everyone by my ridiculous blunder.”
It felt good to slid down to the floor. “Do you speak English?”
The worker looks directly at me. “No.”
OK…I’m paralyzed, in a closet, no air, no help and no exit. My career may be over. Bosses aren’t too keen on employees who get lost in a church. If my boss hears about this—and someone in this sanctuary will no doubt report back—I’ll be reassigned to the mail room. I wonder if I can get a job at some gardening center, watering flowers…
And I mutter on like a crazy person…
Twenty wild minutes later, I have to calm myself. Create a plan. I’ve been in vexing situations before and survived. Enough with the suffering in this gloomy space, get up off the floor! Past caring what anyone thinks at this point, I dust off my skirt and announce to the custodian, “I’ll not be held hostage in your silly little broom closet.” She offers yet another blank stare.
Ready to act, I crack the door.
Oh, Praise God, everyone is in prayer.
As I hightail it out, past each praying choir member, I offer the “I have to get to my office” routine whenever a singer looks up at me. Oh, thank God! I see an empty seat in the front row! Nope. Too close to the suffering family.
I’ll just walk out like I own the place (during a prayer no less). No one will notice if I walk on my tip-toes, no sound from my heels. Thank God, all heads are bowed.
So grateful to see the red Holy door, I push outside. After my morning, the bright sun is a bona fide gift. My plan in coming had been to offer sympathy…but all I did was focus on my escape.
So happy to see my car, I settle in. Still feeling a little stressed, I bow my head: “Dear God, in the future, please lead me to work the room…and not let the room work me.”
Backing the car out, I have a funny thought.
Finally. I really am heading back to my office.
- Lost in Church - June 18, 2025
