From the journal…

Went up to the balcony as I had wanted to… The time of day was perfect, and the day itself—still full of light even at the sighing time when sun prepares to exchange the vigil with moon. First thing I noticed was the temperature shift when walking through the doors—so sudden. Where the sanctuary is of warm dust and candles, the stairwell going up is cool dust and light—at least right now. The light is incredible—sunset yellow-orange. There is also a palpable sense of age, the smoothing of time that has softened the wood’s surface and settled into the cushions on the pews that are still up here. And again, the dust…the dust that glitters gold in the stained glass filtered light.

How many stories are held here…how many layers of prayer and quiet, tears, and laughter…all mingled with wax and music and so many voices…

There is a nearness in this space…not just upstairs in the balcony—downstairs too. Sometimes it is good to see that from a different place, to feel it from a different place. And maybe that is part of the ‘practice’ I was reading about in the bit that came out today from Richard Rohr and the Centre for Action and Contemplation (CAC).

Mindless repetition of any practice, with no clear goal or clarity of intention, can in fact keep us quite unconscious—unless the practices keep breaking us into new insights, desire, compassion, and an ever-larger notion of God and ourselves.

from CAC Daily Meditation email, 10 April, 2024; adapted from Richard Rohr, Just This (Albuquerque, NM: CAC Publishing, 2017), 94-95, 96-97, 98.

An ever larger notion of God and ourselves…by climbing stairs, by steeping in light and perspective, by listening, feeling, seeing. All I can think is Yes, please…and Amen, thank you. Sometimes that’s prayer enough in a space already so full…within and without.