Darkness, shrouds of shadow over flowers of brightness, each blossom a remembrance of relationship, the intertwining of lives and history. In the narthex, the sound of a fountain burbling up through stones, the silence, the whispers, greetings.
A fire pot is lit, crackle of flame, anticipation of the voice singing praise in the night, ethereal, connecting ages beyond meaning or philosophy, the human voice singing out into the cosmos, a love song of yearning and hope. And a priest, afraid perhaps of what must be said, the spirit inside, burbling and crackling, demanding truth, demading voice. Just one person after all, one person on a cross, and yet so many, one priest, one disciple, one heart to represent us all, and so for each of us, carrying the whole world in our hands. In the dark and in the light, together we make each other whole. We put our hands into the world where we find our brokenness and our own glory. Each of us representing each of us. An ephemeral piece of cosmic dust so imbued with the divine that we claim our father and demand our mother. So small, and yet when we break the carapace over our hearts, we find the God who creates, who compels compassion. This mystery annihilates us while it breathes into us the life of stars, the wonder of the cosmos, a small child’s smile, the grace of wrinkles and the deep laughter that heals and makes and sweeps us all into the cosmic storm of love.