Armchair Peregrinations


December 20, 1998

It's an early Sunday afternoon, the fourth Sunday in Advent, a few days before Christmas. In church a few hours ago, I was looking up at the sun illuminating the stained-glass windows and casting a mellow, gold light on the faces of people seated in the balcony. The choir and musicians were performing the "Oratorio de Noel" by Camille Saint-Saens. It was beautiful music. Energy and passion flowed from those voices and instruments as the concert progressed. As usual in these situations, I felt somewhat numb. My thoughts wandered. I tried to be contemplative. I found myself wondering about this strange stop-and-go spiritual journey I'm on and what an effort to think of myself as a Christian. What a constant struggle to overcome the incessant clamoring of the world with all its sins and temptatons, its materialistic and worldly answers and solutions. "The world is too much with us," Wordsworth wrote. "Getting and spending we lay waste our powers."

As I write these words and look out the window, I see the remaining leaves on the big oak rustling faintly. It is a warm and mild December day. Calm and quiet, as a Sunday should be.

I picked up a folder of clippings and articles spanning the years 1979-85 earlier this morning and have been looking at them. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, these clippings are snapshots of my thinking and reading from a time in the past -- my Memory Clipping Files. Here is what I found:

It intrigues me a great deal that I can go back to these old clippings files and find that I'm still interested in the subject matter and in reading them again. Reminders of who I was and who I am.


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