Osler's Razor

I have many friends who choose a church for the music, because that is what their hearts respond to. Others love a cathedral, with soaring lines and a wonderful space.

My own churches have tended to be simple, not huge, and have inspiring if not complex music.

Last week, though, I went to a cathedral in New York, a famous and enormous place filled with people and art and song. It was beautiful, and inspiring. I get it. I enjoyed it. Yet... could I do it every week?

To me, God usually speaks in a still, small voice, and I need that part of me to be fed. In a cathedral, I am a tourist. In the humblest church, though, I am at home.

This, I think, comes from my Dad, who taught me to find beauty everyplace, and to quietly soak it in. What draws him in is humble earthy beauty, not the arc of grand efforts. Early on, I learned to be still and watch what he did, and incredible things would happen-- a scene would appear, a contrast of colors or events or light. He did not have to describe it, because it was there on the side of a barn or a quiet street or a woman waiting by a bus stop. All that beauty is God's, of course, but it took my father to make me see it. Could there have been a better gift, to make a son's life better no matter where he may land?