Saturday, February 2, 2008

Oak Portals, Atlanta, Georgia 1-22-8

It was one of those cold drab days of winter, a short gray one just past the winter solstice. A spitting semi-frozen rain accreted on the windshield as I drove one hundred thirty miles. Traces of recent snows fluoresced in the woods along the roadway. While hoping for a break in the leaden clouds, which never came, I became resigned to not seeing any color before nightfall. As it happened, a fleck of iridescent paradise unexpectedly washed up on the shores of my life during mid-afternoon.

Sometimes one is greatly surprised by what is concealed by closed doors. And so it was today when I pulled on the fine antique brass knob attached to a century-old oak door at the end of a narrow blind hallway. Even the clues of this fine old door did not prepare me for what lay on the far side. I opened it and passed through to find myself standing on the tiled dais of a sanctuary from another time and place, perhaps from the mythical city of Chiron. The feeling was a bit like passing through a fictional Star Gate or some kind of wormhole. The realities and troubles of a large angry city were instantly left behind. I gawked with head facing upward into dazzling lights that chased away any remembrance of the steel dullness of the journey.

On either side of me were a hundred feet of Tiffany glass windows depicting the seminal events in the Christian story. The luminous nature of these images was so stunning, so believable; merely looking at them helped my faith. In my mind, no one could possibly put this much effort, talent, and expense into creating these epic windows unless they depicted absolute truth. Before me was a Rose window that drew me further into this faith journey, a journey from drabness into the spectral brilliance of new life. Could it really be true for me?

I left this soul haven and went to do my business elsewhere and was draw to return in the afternoon. This time I had not only those visual images to immerse myself in; the immense organ was resonating throughout the sublime space. A recitalist was practicing for an upcoming program. Today he had an attentive audience of one.

I wandered back into the raining reality of a dreary rainy winter day, knowing that there is an inner light that glows regardless of the climate, that a song can be sung in my heart despite the cacophony of life, no longer crowding out the solitude and serenity that give us true knowledge of the One who sends flecks of paradise into our lives every day.

Craig Johnson
Atlanta, Georgia

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Nice.............