Cathedrals of the World

Once we travelled the rails and snaked our way high into the Swiss Alps to Andermatt. On our way back to the station we found a small church with carved wooden doors. Together my husband and I sat in the holy hush of candlelight; surrounded by murals and sculptures from another time. I imagined the workers who built this haven so high on these rocky peaks.

I have walked cobbled stoned paths in Israel, Austria, Germany, and Pompeii. I've bathed in light that danced its way through the glass that was stained. I've rested in the splendor of spaces beneath frescoes and gold-plated domes. The tourists with their careless cameras disrupt the faithful few. I've listened to silence and hoped to hear echoes of a thousand years and eavesdropped into the prayer of a broken heart. Once I found myself alone and lifted my voice in praise just to hear it echo off the ancient stones. With the tour's end, I filed out in hallowed silence, though my heart hungered for more.

But there's a faraway place that I hold so dear. A place that fills my heart with reverent fear. It

has been the most magnificent cathedral of all. The artistry and worship were more than my senses could bear. No murals or domes blocked my view of the sky, vibrant clothes covered the walls of mud. I hold this place close to my heart and think of it when the difficult days come (and trust me they do). 

The rhythm of their praise still echoes in my ear -- These were the songs of joy Christ must have heard as he endured the cross. Every tribe and tongue sang praises to their King. -- I remember that place and the sounds of their song. 

I remember their smiles and the way the children danced. The dust-covered faces and ragged clothes. Nowhere near were there domes of gold.