They grab me, these little bits of God nearly unseen.
There is a mountain way bigger than me beyond these trees. How much more do I not see?
I have been enthralled with my church for almost a year now, delighted with its sweet blend of touching-the-divine and being-with-humans, enticed by God showing up in song, sermon, and the sharing of food.
And I might have forgotten that God is not only in stained glass and shiny brass, not only in vestments and fair linens and fraction anthems, not only in arcane liturgical hierarchy.
What I used to know is that God sings everywhere.
In cathedrals of ice that sanctify mud.
In pools of cloud that baptize the day.
In shadows on snow that redeem a difficult drive.
And my calling, I would like to think, is to sing back.
Not just once a week inside those four rock walls, but here at home in the real world, where there is healing, fellowship, and fun.
"Arise, shine; for your light is come, and the glory of the LORD has dawned upon you."
(Isaiah 60:1, HARC)
