Facing East

Over the years I have been reading Proust’s Swann’s Way in small bits. Each time I reach a new section I compare it to the passion he seemed to have had describing the church he attended when he was at Combray. Proust had his small cathedral and the light upon its steeple to contemplate as he revisited that rural setting in his writings. I am no Proust. Still, I have the Korean Baptist Church that lies just to the east of the back door of my office. 

 As I enter the back door of my office each morning I struggle to juggle my spare pair of shoes, my bag lunch and my purse. But no matter how Ed Wynn I might look, I take a moment to cast a glimpse over my shoulder at a simple spire rising up above the trees. 

 A solid row of quick growing pine planted to demarcate the boundary at the rear of the small church frames the bottom of the image and today wispy clouds the top. While there are the ugly reminders of the brute way humanity has adapted to our environment present, read telephone and power wires, the spire is there almost a prayer unto itself in the morning light. By looking at bell tower I feel closer to the divine. 

 As I gaze at this small, simple churches image I understand why Proust was so taken with the church at Combray and how the light hit it. It was visceral. It was holy.