Last May I went to hear The Egg sing at the magnificent Fish Church in Stamford, Connecticut. On the way, I spent an incredible afternoon walking New York City with my friend Cindy. We met through blogging, and the timing of her trip and this concert let us meet in person. I enjoyed getting a chance to be a choral roadie mom, riding the bus with the group and handing our programs and information at the church. It was a flying trip, I left Philly around 8 am and returned 16 hours later.
The space and the concert were both incredible. In order to catch the last train back home, I had to dash the second the concert ended, blowing a kiss to The Egg as I went. The church's organist and music director dropped me at the station, and I sank into the quiet car on Amtrak to process the day. As I did, the music kept playing in my head, Robert Parson's Ave Maria (which you can hear at 2:06), along with the realization that my prayer life swims in a similar sea, from which words and notes arise with incredible clarity, only to be caught up again into the wider service of the piece.
From those reflections came this reflection, posted yesterday at Ignatian Spirituality's DotMagis.
This morning, listening again to Robert Parson’s Ave Maria, I realized that this is the rhythm not only of my prayer, but of my life. There are moments when I am blessed with an utter certainty of God’s presence, followed by moments when I am so distracted by the complex cacophony that pervades my daily life I lose track of the underlying melody entirely. I can be befuddled by, entranced with, or simply carried away by the complexity of the sacred tune swirling through the universe. And there are so many times when I strain to hang onto the barest whisper of God’s voice, unsure if it is still there. - Read the rest at DotMagis.
The Egg is standing in the back row, in front of the tabernacle. Sometimes you see him, sometimes you don't!