Graymoor 2: Holy Spirit Chapel

You quieted my spirit when I leaned against the cedar. Now I am off again, sent to reflect on Ephesians 4:5. I walk outside, consider going back to the same peaceful spot near the thicket. But no. You draw me up the hill, to what looks like a tudor home. One of our retreat participants comes out of the door, tells me he just turned the light off. I go inside and sit on a wooden chair, and write...

Silence. Deep. And dark plum walls, absorbing the little light that is coming through leaded glass windows. A radiator begins to hiss. Golden walls towards the inner sanctum, banners, icons. Door closed. Locked it from the inside. Crosses, candles, censers. I see branches, faintly, through white, ruby, blue glass of Madonna and Child. This Child has come to us, the good news that we are sisters, brothers. One faith, one hope, one baptism, one God and Father of all. And footsteps crunching the dirt outside. A brother, walking? I am tucked away, secreted, locked, separate, 'midst mahogany, brasses, golden arched secluded alcoves. One God inside, outside the door. One God and Father of all. Who has stood here, sat here before me? Who will stand here, sit here after me? Brothers, sisters, held together through all time, by one God and Father of all. Holy Spirit Chapel. I unlock the red wood door, and walk out into the world.

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Blogger HighCallingBlogs.com said...

Your heart shows in your writing...a rare thing. What a calming voice you have with your words.

Gordon Atkinson (rlp)


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