A Maze of Emotions at St. John's Sleepover

The blue gym of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine is home to closets of basketballs, a wooden Trojan horse awaiting exhibition for an upcoming sixth-grade play, and two sets of bleachers that hold a total of about 20 spectators. On Friday nights, a crew of sleeping out-of-towners join the collection.

Since 1975, the cathedral’s Nightwatch program has hosted church congregations from all over the country for either one or two nights of spiritual activities that strive to provide “a quality worship experience,” according to director Paul Johnson.

For several Friday evenings each year, members of the Nightwatch staff welcome different church groups—some, according to Johnson, repeat attendees. One recent night, I bedded down in the gym with several dozen young churchgoers to experience Nightwatch for myself. I found a program that alternated traditional teenage pastimes with moving moments of spirituality in the course of a mere 15 hours.

The night began like any other sleepover: a long line of high school students and a few adults playing knockout in the church gym. Nightwatch staff member Margaret Kim said that the church aims to “draw them [the kids] closer to God in a Christian way.” As she explained her goals, a crowd of around 65 arrived from Syracuse, Long Island, New Jersey, and a town near Albany. An adult screamed, “Our new champion!” as the game of knockout ended.

Kim greeted the group and began an activity in which people must form groups of varying sizes. I quickly found a group of four and met a man named Greg, who was also experiencing Nightwatch for the first time. His expectation for the night? Sleep deprivation. “In some cultures, sleep deprivation is a way to attain a higher state,” he joked.

The kids played outside while the church “elders,” or adults, gathered in the kitchen for an advisers’ meeting to discuss the logistics of the next 14 hours.

The gaggle greeted one woman arriving late in unison with, “Hi, Jane.”

“Oh my, this is like being at AA!” she responded, prompting giggles.

We retreated to the other side of the gym for a musical celebration. Suitcases, duffle bags, and sleeping sacks were sprawled on the floor in one corner of the room. Armed with a banjo and guitar, local Christian singers David Bryan and Allison Graham—accompanied by Johnson, who suddenly breaks out his guitar—led the crowd in singing “Si ya hamba” and “Prince of Peace.”

“For the next 13 hours and 45 minutes we will be a living community,” Johnson announced. Boys and girls giggled while parents socialized quietly, but as Johnson’s voice insinuated, there was also a cooperative component to the program. Each individual, we discovered, would wake up at 7 a.m. tomorrow to do his or her share of the workload.

We formed teams for the scavenger hunt—my team proudly dubbed itself “The Night Owls,” a name which I’ll admit I came up with. We joined the throng along with “Team Bible Awesome” and “Sixter Act.”

We then hiked to the cathedral itself, where we encountered the spiritual crux of the evening: the walking of the labyrinth, a maze meant to symbolize a religious journey. “The labyrinth is a spiritual journey, a pilgrimage, which is different for each person,” Johnson said quietly.

Kim handed out shells as we entered the labyrinth, and the band played soft religious music in the background. A man stopped temporarily during his trek through the maze to look up at the ceiling, appearing to contemplate what greater forces were at work. Women bowed down to worship. A young girl sat on the edge after completing her pilgrimage, moved to tears.

I didn’t actually spend the night in the church—preferring the comfortable environs of my John Jay single—but I returned the next morning for clean-up and a tour of the cathedral.

”We’re going to areas that the general public does not have access to,” Johnson said, leading groups through the cathedral before the final closing ceremony.

The groups returned to upstate New York, Long Island, and New Jersey, as I returned to my dorm. But the journey, somehow, seemed further.

scott.levi@columbiaspectator.com