My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Finding God in Church
No question of sincerity in the service. No doubting the intensity of the sermon. The choir with its usual ardor was slamming out the music of the past four centuries with a determination no one could doubt, but the sacrament -- the truly holy aspect of this whole affair -- was in the congregation. It is in parents holding children and in people holding hands. It is in their being family or in their smile to friends or to strangers. The sacrament -- the presence of God -- is at the altar, but it is more evident here in the people who face it. They brought, at least today, as much as they found.
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