Wept in front of this icon today, stood right in the middle of the monastery of Meteora and cried when my eyes fell upon the sermon I needed to take in.
I've seen it before, of course, I must have, but today I was fully present, one thousand miles above sea level breathing deep the incense of sandalwood and rosemary, listening to the hushed voices of faithful chanting monks who live far away and above the cares of the world. I stood there in the candlelight, wax tapers that are the prayers of the saints and watched the reds melt into blue and gold, saw Jesus lifting Adam and Eve up out of their graves. The Resurrection, my own theology set to canvas, gilded in gold; Jesus enough for me, for you, for all.
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