God doesn’t move, we do. I’ve heard this aphorism for years and am currently experiencing this bit of wisdom big time. God doesn’t move, but I did—and I mean this quite literally.
Was it just last week or the previous one that movers arrived to load and transport all my stuff? I can’t remember and looking at a calendar hardly helps create clarity, I am that confuzzled these days. For a slew of superb reasons, I recently decided to make a bold move—maybe not so bold because I’ve been carping forever about being stuck in Suburban Captivity.
I haven’t lived in a city for 30 years; now I do. The city of my personal pre-Christian Era was Manhattan.* Where am I now? Baltimore, Maryland. No shortage of churches and evidence of church history here in Charm City or within walking distance of my apartment, for that matter.
In one direction, Loyola University Maryland and the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Mary Our Queen. In another, the Cathedral of the Incarnation and diocesan center for the Episcopal Diocese of Maryland. One hot humid evening, I sat on the steps of the Scottish Rite Masonic Center (next building over) to gaze at the illuminated stained glass windows of the First English Evangelical Lutheran Church (across the street).
If you think being surrounded by Gothic, Romanesque, baroque and contemporary versions of these church architectural styles would help me feel anchored during my move, you’d be right but not entirely so. Yes, attending Mass a few times has helped me feel more connected to church but feeling God’s presence? That didn’t happen until yesterday morning when I finally heeded God’s call to walk across grass still moist with morning dew, listen to birdsong and notice life lived along the pavement.
* East side, below 14th Street!
