I look for him in organ pipes and stained glass, in rigid pews and hymnals’ soft paper, in balconies and daises, in the smell of wood and the echo of my own footsteps, behind the confessional’s carved windows and in the candles’ glowing memories, in the dry basin expecting holy water and in the arched ceiling expecting song. I seek him in the silence a church offers, like the silence he offered the Church when he removed his collar. I find him in the space between what we have and what we want, in the space between what we had and what we gave away.