After an arduous day — wallpaper scraping for me, many meetings for my wife — we stopped into a nearby church as we were walking back home from the city. We stopped because there were cute children running in with bouquets of flowers, followed by parents without that put upon look so common outside church. It is not a church we go to: ours is in a distant neighborhood, a good 40 minute walk. But we went inside to have a look.
It was relatively modern, with plain white walls and the plainest of pine crosses. But it summoned into its vaulted center, from the children and parents running about (a concert was about to begin) that ineffable quality, that “two or more gathered in his name.” I was held to the spot, not in a sentimental way, as nothing had held me all day. Minor miseries had been a sitcom all day, but I had come into the light.