Last year the twins worked at two of the local castles. One afternoon they were tour guides at Glencairn, helping visitors appreciate the sculptures and mosaics. Then they trotted next door to Cairnwood where they catered for an event that kept fifty people well fed until bedtime. Nine hours on their feet. Though there were cupcakes to refuel on the fly.

 

A stone's throw away from those magnificent buildings stands the Cathedral, also made by period craftsmen. But there is decidedly no stone throwing allowed, all pebbles having been meticulously removed from the grounds, as the stained glass windows are irreplaceable at any price. One Sunday John preached about the man with a withered hand. I took Ben, who sat calmly from the time I arrived early for a sound check, while I played a prelude, and then when his dad gave the talk. As chance would have it, four of his friends from the disabilities group were in nearby pews, and I wondered what all their lives would be like if healings were still in vogue. 

 

Every time I swivel the heavy Cathedral doors open, with their Monel dove shaped handles, I marvel at the satiny surface. The inherent beauty of the teak shines in a way that the stately oak tree in my yard cannot. The lumber came across the ocean from Burma, in the rocking holds of East India shipping vessels. It took awhile. Hundreds of hours of circular rubbing, round and round like the rings on a sequoia, gradually brought out the luminosity that shines as if it would be warm to the touch. 

 

I have been listening to John preach for almost forty years, and my recollection swirled back to the early ones. Make that the first thirty. For some reason I felt it was my duty to critique his sermon, and point out mistakes for the sake of self improvement. Only it was me trying to improve him which I guess does not quite qualify. 

 

Yet gradually that penchant has been worn away, leaving me free to simply listen. It began as a notion that criticism was not as helpful as it pretends to be. Then the experience of having my own faults rubbed in helped me understand the illusion. Slowly I began to want to be a more affirming person. 

 

More recently I find it easier to hear without any desire to throw stones. Maybe healing is not outdated after all. 

 

 

The circle of a person's life is to know, to understand, to will and to do.
-Apocalypse Explained 242, Emanuel Swedenborg