What is holy? Sacred? Pure?
I suppose I should feel close to God in my church. In the fellowship of others, "Amen's" from the lady in blue. I suppose the melodic tune of the preachers words should make my heart swell, my pulse tighten. But often...it doesn't.
What is holy?
Because lately, the times I've felt closest to God are not when I'm on bended knee, or singing hymns.
Walking in freezing rain.
Listening to the Born Ruffians.
Dancing to the clang of pots and pans in a friend's kitchen.
And standing in a crowd.
Holy, holy, holy, holy.
Who are we to judge? The lady in blue may say the preacher's words are holy, but who's to discount the sanctity of a warm bath? The holiness of walking down a grocery isle?
Not I.
