Home was a mountain
That reached to the sky;
Softly I left you,
Not hearing your cries.
In rolled the ocean
So wide and so deep
I let it cleanse me
And rock me to sleep.
And dawn, like a flower
Now blooms through the lies
And beckons me homeward
To see through your eyes.
--
My new friend Kellie and I wrote this, line by line, on the beach. Not just at the beach, but on the beach; in the sand. It was really cool.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Something
Hello people.
I'm at college now, in case you didn't know that already. I really love it here. It's a beautiful place, in more ways than one. I love my roommates. I love my classmates. I love my professors. I love the campus.
I've been craving something, though. Some level of worship that I can't reach through the mini rock concerts at chapel and vespers. Not that there's anything wrong with the worship here; it's youthful, it's enthusiastic, it's diverse. But it's loud. I want something quieter.
Sometimes I listen to Gregorian chant. I don't usually tell people because I feel like it's a nerdy thing to do, as in, it's either really really old school or it's somehow obnoxiously new-agey. But the truth is, I love Gregorian chant. I was once driving home late at night listening to the classical music station on the radio, and there were monks from a monastery in Germany chanting in strong, pure voices. It changed me.
We freshmen are encouraged to choose and attend a church in the area. I've visited a couple but they haven't stuck. Maybe it's wrong to dislike a church because I don't like its music; I don't know. All I can say is that I'm not satisfied yet. I want something quieter.
There are these beautiful flowers on campus. I don't know what they're called but I think they're the most arresting color in existence. It's not sufficient to look at them and say, "those are pretty." In fact, description is useless. What I can tell you is that looking at them is like listening to Gregorian chant. The morning frames them as richly as any cathedral space, draping awe across your shoulders, new sunlight fresh as silence. It's inexplicably fulfilling, undeniably moving-- deeply, deeply worshipful. They take your breath away and offer it up to God.
Is there a church that worships like that?
I'm at college now, in case you didn't know that already. I really love it here. It's a beautiful place, in more ways than one. I love my roommates. I love my classmates. I love my professors. I love the campus.
I've been craving something, though. Some level of worship that I can't reach through the mini rock concerts at chapel and vespers. Not that there's anything wrong with the worship here; it's youthful, it's enthusiastic, it's diverse. But it's loud. I want something quieter.
Sometimes I listen to Gregorian chant. I don't usually tell people because I feel like it's a nerdy thing to do, as in, it's either really really old school or it's somehow obnoxiously new-agey. But the truth is, I love Gregorian chant. I was once driving home late at night listening to the classical music station on the radio, and there were monks from a monastery in Germany chanting in strong, pure voices. It changed me.
We freshmen are encouraged to choose and attend a church in the area. I've visited a couple but they haven't stuck. Maybe it's wrong to dislike a church because I don't like its music; I don't know. All I can say is that I'm not satisfied yet. I want something quieter.
There are these beautiful flowers on campus. I don't know what they're called but I think they're the most arresting color in existence. It's not sufficient to look at them and say, "those are pretty." In fact, description is useless. What I can tell you is that looking at them is like listening to Gregorian chant. The morning frames them as richly as any cathedral space, draping awe across your shoulders, new sunlight fresh as silence. It's inexplicably fulfilling, undeniably moving-- deeply, deeply worshipful. They take your breath away and offer it up to God.
Is there a church that worships like that?
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