From this vantage the church seemed to rise forever into that great blue sky, a giant tower of granite and brick, narrowing to a point in the jagged teeth of a three tiered crown. And the crown held up the sun, whose light peered out from behind it in a thousand slivers of light. And beneath the sun there was a shield. A miraculous inverted shield of stained glass, a cornucopia of colours and designs of meticulous craftsmanship. And as I stood there looking up I could almost hear Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony roaring to a triumphant climax in my ears.  This church made me feel small and insignificant. For a moment I floated alone in a vast, dark universe of infinite nothingness.  For a moment I believed in God. This church made me feel the same way that all large churches do - awed and inspired.

    As my initial feelings of wonderment began to pass, my slackened jaw returning to its proper position, I stepped back from the church and Selina and I resumed our walk, looping around the church and heading towards Lindsay Park. We passed along the church’s shaded walkway, straddled on either side by perfectly trimmed hedges, surrounded by perfectly kept golf-green grass, a magnificent flower bed of tulips stretching out before us, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much it must have cost to build a place like this. I thought of other churches like this: the Knox United Church downtown, the grand old churches of Europe; Moscow’s towering spires of Orthodox gold, the Notre Dame of Paris, and the Basilica of the Sacred Heart perched high atop the Montmartre, and was amazed to think of the effort, of the resources, that have been expended, and will continue to be expended in the raising of these monuments to God.

    In this age of cutbacks and belt-tightening it amazed my capitalist conditioned mind that such monuments could exist. These are not the high-rise office buildings of Wall Street where fortunes are won and lost. These are not the golden electric Pyramids and pirate ships of Las Vegas that lure and part countless scores of fun-seekers from their hard-earned cash each year. These are churches, and in a certain, substantial sense they are completely useless. They don’t sell tickets at the door. They don’t have a concession stand. There’s no big neon sign out front that says COLD BEER ON TAP. They have no significant purpose other than to serve as a place of worship for millions of naive followers of an irrational and anachronistic world view. A view that mistakes science’s and man’s incomplete understanding of the universe as irrefutable evidence of some benevolent, omnipresent God.  A view that has persecuted Jews and homosexuals, excluded women, been a source of inspiration for white supremacists and cult leaders, and justified the competitive murder of millions through countless centuries of holy war.

    Yet the churches remain. And they will always remain. And they will never cease to awe and inspire me, to excite my imagination and the imaginations of thousands like me. It's true, they serve no purpose in a capitalist world where the bottom line determines worth - in a world without God. It’s true, I think the ideology that justifies their existence is bunk. I live in a world without God. And yet, time and again, when I enter a church I am filled with an overwhelming sense of happiness. I get goosebumps, my hair stands up on end, my eyes water, and I feel like laughing for joy. I am reminded of the old saying that a cynic knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. The church is one of the last bulwarks of value in a sea of cynicism. Its price is unimportant.  Religion aside, its beauty is what counts. The labour of love that laid every brick and carved every pew and didn’t stop to ask how much it would cost or if it was worth it. That is what the church means to me.

    So in the end, perhaps we do have something to learn from the church. But that lesson has nothing to do with abortion or family values. It is a lesson of inherent value. Of the need for things in this world which might not be cost-efficient but which inspire us just the same. Of the need for the odd expression of uninhibited creativity.  We need to create a Pyramid, or a Colosseum, or a Sphinx from time to time so that we’re reminded of what it is to be alive as a people.  To build them for no other reason but that they awe us. And we must not let the cynics stand in our way. Although they are many we must brush them aside. We must stand as that church stands on 17th, as a lone bulwark of value in a sea of cynicism. And the world will be a better place for us having done so... even if it does have a little less money than it started off with.