Susan LaffertyThe organ shrieks as we enter the sanctuary. Dissonant. Avant garde notes bouncing off ancient stone floors. Filling the arched ceilings.
Discordant.
Disconcerting.
Seemingly out of place with the luminous stained glass and stately wooden pews.
We walk. Blue-skied afternoon. Fallen leaves swirling on the path. Picked up and scattered by the wind.
An after-Thanksgiving-dinner tradition, this walk takes us through shade and cold. To places in the sun. Beside the lake. Where water moves, reflecting rays.
Conversations and laughter accompany this walk. As we breathe cool air in the shifting light.
The evidence of God’s creation and Presence is all around us on that restful stroll through the neighborhood. And I think about the ways God speaks. Breathes. And moves.
Mystery. Mysterion.
One summer night I stand on the porch.
Watching a mystery.
Heat lightning.
Light pulsating in silent, brilliant rhythm.
Illuminating massive white clouds in night sky.
I can’t tear my eyes away.
