The state of Pennsylvania recently authorized one of our twins to drive on public roads. She is pleased. The other one has been given clearance to lead Nativity Tours at Glencairn Museum. I wanted very much to squeeze into her schedule, and was glad to find a single spot in a two o'clock group. I learned a myriad of things, like that there are stained glass windows made by local artists back in the twenties, and others imported from Europe. Since only four participants can fit in the elevator at once, we went up to the tower in clusters. This left some of us to chat as we looked out at the vistas of Philadelphia. Bryn Athyn College, Cairnwood, and the Cathedral were below us. One woman asked another if she had visited them as well. 

 

"I went to the Cathedral. But it was disappointing. Stark, really."

 

I swallowed my defensive rebuttal. But inside I was churning. How dare she be so cocky as to criticize such a magnificent architectural triumph? There are carved high backed teak chairs worth more than her car. An organ with components from two Skinner Opus instruments and three thousand pipes, that cost more than her house. Monel keys that open every hand rubbed door. Probably she is ignorant of the fact that Monel demands ten times the price of copper and is resistant to such forces as rapidly moving sea water.

 

Because you never know. 

 

I didn't engage in the conversation. But I did pay closer attention the next time I walked through the doors of the Cathedral, swiveling the handles carved like doves. I gazed up at the oak beams, rather than hurrying to my seat. 

 

Many of us have been given access to places of great value. Our bodies for one. Relationships for another. Any number of organs under your skin could draw a hefty sum on the black market, or what is more cogent new life to someone in crisis. We are invited into the sacred spaces of another human being, and yet can glance back over our shoulder with disdain. 

 

What would happen if we remembered that this person is designed and created with exquisite care? Perhaps our compassion would be more resistant to the currents that pummel against it.