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why yes, i *do* like the sound of my own voice
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September 2009
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why yes, i *do* like the sound of my own voice [userpic]
Chapel response, or, In which I wax philosophical/angsty.

To the best of my recollection, I have not missed Chapel this entire year. At first we congregated on the Parish House steps – ostensibly because the organ was being reassembled, but as the weeks passed, we stayed outside, enjoying the weather. It was at chapel that I first prayed for Meghan’s family, not realizing that I prayed for people I knew. It was at chapel that I first learned that the beautiful deep blue sky overhead was being polluted by burning jet fuel and the dust of the World Trade Center. It was at chapel that I lifted up the soul of a saint who went before her time, but well after the miracle. Counting how many Tuesdays have passed has become a way of marking time. I counted Tuesdays and wondered at the fact that only seven days separated a me who thought my world was invincible, a me who drove five hours to go to a visitation and drink Starbucks, from a me who can hardly recall living in a country that wasn’t at war. In those seven days, the little babies who I often see there lost their chance at growing up like Meghan – happy, carefree, willing to mourn and giggle in the short span of an hour. The light lavender ribbons Meghan’s friends wore to commemorate the victim of a terrible but isolated tragedy separated out into the red, white, and blue that bears the weight of the thousands who lost their lives and the millions who lost their security.

So many weeks have passed since the week in which everything changed. Today I knelt at the far end of the prayer rail after Communion and saw some people who were rejoicing and some who were clearly not; some people who were uplifted and some who were humbled. Every week everything changes for someone.

Current Mood: preoccupied
Current Music: some random vocalise being sung down the hall