Joan of Arc wins me £12.50
Parents, pay close attention to the media your children consume. Even before I became a semi-lapsed Christian, during my younger, more zealous days, I believed I had a healthy scepticism toward organised religion and an irreverent attitude toward Church authority.
So I was surprised to feel a small thrill when I saw Sarah Mullally, soon to be the first female Archbishop of Canterbury, among the clergy entering St Paul’s Cathedral on Sunday evening. She was there as Bishop of London, and I was attending as a bereaved daughter.
Each year, St Paul’s holds a memorial service for families of patients who passed away at the nearby St Bartholomew’s Hospital. The ward where my father spent his last weeks looked out onto the cathedral. It felt like an unusual way to spend an evening.
My father’s younger, fervent days ended quite differently than mine, in firm atheism. As I went out into the cold, dark evening to attend the service, I could hear him in my mind saying:
What are you bloody doing that for?
As my stepmother and I took our seats beneath the great domed ceiling, I looked around at the other attendees, bundled in coats and scarves, and thought what a strange and somber group we were.
Author’s summary: Reflecting on faith and loss, the author encounters unexpected emotions at a memorial service, revealing complex ties between belief, family, and grief.