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Professor Molly Tenenbaum
English 101
July 10, 2014
Cathedral Connections: How Organ Music United My Atheism and Organized Religion
Discussions about God and religion have always made me uncomfortable. I am an
atheist and often find it hard to see the positive side of organized religion. All around me I
witness wars being fought in the name of faith and encounter individuals being denied basic
human rights because of divine decrees. However, I pride myself on being open-minded. I have
read the Bible, a large portion of the Qur’an, and a handful of Buddhist texts. My senior year of
high school I went so far as to register for a course on world religions. It was this course that
brought me to Saint James’ Cathedral where I first heard the solemn drone of the organ and
finally understood that the roots of seemingly different or even contradictory belief systems are
actually the same.
Every term, my religion class dictated that I was to explore three unique and unfamiliar
places of worship. I had visited Saint James’ Cathedral when I was very young to hear the
performance of a baroque opera. I remembered loving the open and imposing architecture of
the building, so I thought it would make an intriguing location for one of my required trips.
The cathedral stood where I had left it, nestled amongst tall, modern, business and
financial towers on the southwest side of Capitol Hill. Walking through the façade’s fortressworthy, copper doors I was immediately washed in shafts of clear, gray Seattle light. They
radiated from skylights positioned between the many arches and domes of the ceiling. All along
the walls were ornate windows of stained glass, each a masterpiece depicting the life of Christ. I
stood beside the placid baptismal pool and noticed that beneath my feet was a pale stone floor
glinting with golden trim and decorative floral inlays. In every direction I could spy pedestals
dedicated to various saints. Each station was complete with a depiction of the individual, a
table covered in flickering candles, a worn wooden prayer bench, and a locked coin box
intended for monetary donations to the church. It was clear that, despite the distractions, the
crowning glory of the cathedral chamber was the marble table at its center—home to the
Eucharist during mass.
The cathedral I had remembered was a mere Polaroid, compared to the Vermeer I now
beheld. “If I believed in God,” I thought to myself. “I would definitely think that I could find him
or her in a place such as this.” I clamored to make notes in my journal. With clinical precision
and impartiality I documented the physical appearance of the building, the class offerings
displayed by the Bible Study bulletin board, and the behavior of the few worshipers scattered
amongst the pews. I was almost satisfied with the many details I had recorded when a low,
rumbling, musical cord shook every bone in my body.
The cathedral organ had come to life, and like the bellows of a great dragon, each string
of notes made my nerves hum with life. My heart no longer had to work at pumping my blood,
for the organ melodies pulsed through my veins. High tonal trills grated at my ears and
stiffened my spine. “Hello world,” I wanted to scream. I was newly born, awakened from the
stupor of my long school day and petty note taking.
When the organ music ceased, my body was rendered so sensitive that the whispers of
worship, from a man seated across the great cathedral hall, sent goose bumps up my arms.
How had I neglected to notice the heat from all the small offering candles when I first walked
through the doors? And then there was the smell…the aroma of a thousand well-loved hymnals
crept into my nostrils.
Saint James’ Cathedral was alive with energy, and no place buzzed more than the
chamber of the Virgin Mary. I would say that I found my way to the hidden vestibule, but rather
I was drawn there, magnetized, until I stood in the dark cavern, face to face with the mother
herself and the throng of women at her feet. The women became the ocean, ebbing and
flowing along a sandy shore, as they knelt and stood, stood and knelt, in a steady dance of
prayer. They lit long, spindly candles, and every so often a tear would roll down one of their
cheeks, landing on the floor.
The reverence of the women compelled me to kneel before the Virgin myself, and I felt
the wooden grain of the prayer bench on my knees. It was still warm from the last believer.
Here, in this room, I could ask for help and know that thousands, millions of individuals had
done the same. People shared my pain, my confusion, and their words, their prayers, still
lingered in the air. The humanity surrounding me was palpable. I was connected to everyone
and there was an energy, greater than my own, in the room.
This energy is what most people identify as the presence of God. I call this energy “the
power of unconditional love.” I practice cultivating this energy by feeling compassion. I see this
energy manifest in people supporting total strangers because they simply believe that we are
all human. At the feet of the Holy Mother, organ melodies still ringing in my ears, I realized that
I believe in the power of what a mainstream American likely calls God. And yet, I am still an
atheist.
The transcendental organ music I experienced during my visit to Saint James’ Cathedral
confirmed for me the connection between my atheism and Catholicism, and allowed me to feel
the broad unity of all belief systems. It was a concept I had understood intellectually prior to
the event – all religions are similar, even the humanist values of non-believers have parallels in
Judeo-Christian or Eastern religious teachings. Yet, until I experienced what a prayer “feels”
like, I did not fully believe such connections to be true.
I left Saint James’ Cathedral finally confident that my atheism does not make me foreign
or strange in a world dominated by organized religion. Putting my fear aside, I have become a
better listener. I no longer shut down when people start talking about faith. I feel connected to
the concepts and ideas they discuss, even if we use different terminology. I am also better able
to express my own beliefs in a way that makes them palatable to those for whom atheism still
feels scary.
Faith should bring people closer to one another, even if their views differ. The word
religion actually stems from the Latin ligare, meaning “to bind together.” Understanding that all
people are united, despite differing beliefs, is important, but feeling truly harmonious with the
world is essential and nourishing to the human spirit. I hope all people can hear the organ of
Saint James’, for this organ has the power to unite even the most vehement atheist with Jesus’
most fervent disciple. It sings every Sunday, and on Friday afternoons too. I have faith that if a
person really listens—listens with unwavering intent—he or she could hear the organ from any
corner of the world. “We are one people,” the organ seems to call. “Our values, experiences,
and beliefs may appear disparate, but at their core, they are the same. Join me in this song of
unity.”