He settled into his pew. The wood was old and creaky and
actually felt softened by use. Nestled is a good word to describe the feeling.
No one was within touching distance. Ah, it is so good worshipping in huge old
cathedrals where this sort of “privacy” is possible. “Just you and me,” he said
to the Deity. Suddenly, the organ chimes began tolling the melody to a favorite
old hymn of his, a bit out-of-season but nonetheless very, very welcome--and
appropriate: “Come Holy Ghost, Creator blest and in our hearts take up Thy
rest.”
This was indeed a time of rest and refreshment. He thanked God
for having given him the capacity to savor so many things: an ancient
melody, the sound of the carillon, the text of an old prayer, the blessed time
of private solitude, the beauty of an old church. He thanked God that his heart
was so disposed that the meaning of those words brought him a very real sense
of Presence, and peace, and giftedness.
What do you savor? How great is your capacity, the capacity
to savor simple things which lift the heart and spirit beyond the limits
imposed by daily existence? Would you like more? It wouldn’t hurt to ask, you
know.
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