On the seventh floor of Hogwarts, Harry Potter and his friends discover a magical room. My church contains such a room.
It is extraordinary to hear a song reverberating off stonewalls and then dissipate into thin air. The soaring beauty of ephemeral art! Sometimes I find myself holding my breath as the soloist hits a high note or that incredibly awkward person tells his testimony. Do we appreciate that moment? Because many of us are conductors of that symphony, curators of beauty and we don’t realize the importance of our position.
Like most of us, I have creative energy. I forget the box in which I’m supposed to fit. I make missteps. I force change and watch the body reject my suggestions like a bad organ implant.