Through most of my first thirty years on earth I thought the phenomenon of the “pew squatter” was peculiar to Roman Catholic worship.
The squatters are those worshipers who sit at the ends of the pews and adamantly refuse to move in.
Some are polite and smile at the person(s) standing near them seeking entrance into the pew. The common response is to tighten their squatted bodies to create the illusion of the possibility of passage.
Some squatters are wrapped in prayerful intensity with their longing gaze at something in front of them ignoring the person(s) seeking entrance into the pew.
Other squatters, who are usually younger, are busy shoving Cheerios into their small children’s mouths.
The newcomers mutter an “Excuse me,” which usually causes a sigh of “All right” from the squatter. Climbing over the squatted body or bodies, entrance is gained.
The cousins of the squatters are the ones who occupy the rear pews near the festival entrance of the church. They are apprentices watching the squatting techniques of the veteran squatters.
Once they have achieved a certain level of understanding these techniques, they are admitted to designated pews to begin their lifetime task of squatting.
There is a solution.
The solution has been in place for a long time in large churches with many pews, such as a cathedral.
I observed this solution for several weeks now as I occasionally hit the morning Mass in the regional cathedral.
The solution is one pew, one person.
A good fifteen minutes before Mass time, some worshipers have already claimed their prayer pew and have settled in.
After ten minutes, other worshipers trickle in while scanning for an open pew. As soon as one is sighted, the worshiper claims it and—here is the variation—sits in the middle of the pew, rarely at its end.
For these pew-centrists, bliss is assured. Bliss is achieved for the following reasons:
No one else is nearby, so that eliminates the human touch at the sign of peace.
One can execute the “wave of peace” knowing that no one will feel slighted and left out because of one’s personal act of inhospitality of not offering his or her hand to express the peace of Jesus.
With the wave of peace, there is comfort knowing other pews are preventing anyone from coming and invading my liturgical space.
One can sing something similar to what the printed page calls for without the scorn of another person within earshot.
One need not climb over anybody as one approaches the Communion procession in the aisle.
This observation could revolutionize how seating is planned in future church renovations or new constructions.
Single-seating pews can be constructed to assure a personal pew. They could be mobile in order to reconfigure the worship space to add space between the pews.
The mini-pew could be purchased by the worshiper, but leased out on a timeshare for those times when the pew owner will be out of town.
During flu season, since the mini-pews are mobile, they could be reconfigured to create more space between them, thus decreasing the possibility of contagious sneezing.
The possibilities appear to be endless.
Oh, I said above that I thought the pew squatter was indigenously Roman Catholic. Not so.
At a recent memorial service at the centrum of Pittsburgh Presbyteria, I approached a pew with three people sitting at its end.
The end squatter smiled and stood, moved to the aisle with his two companions, and gestured for me to come in.
They returned to their end spot and resumed their stare at something in the distance.
I received no other recognition.
One pew, one person—a good solution.
