Lights in the Sea and the Sky
The past two Sunday afternoons, Jeff and I walked around South Boston. (No worries, people mistake me for Irish. Just kidding. We didn't find the mafia.)
The little beach spread out into the harbor.
The water goes on and on, out further and further, and the waves lap in and in, one after another. Last week was a sunny day, so gazing out at this mass of liquid, the surface of the water appeared to twinkle. It was a symphony of light, one light ending as another two feet away began, each lasting a brief moment, many appearing at once. Hundreds of them.
It was like the heavens in the sea. It looked like the sea was calling out to the sky, mimicing the stars, calling to them and looking for them...the stars, of course, obscured by broad daylight's blanket of light but still out in space somewhere. They looked so similar: one set of twinkling lights in the sea, the other in the sky. (I could only observe the one in the sea; the one in the sky I observed from memory.) One for the daytime, one for the nighttime. Both present--one visible, one invisible. It looks like they would interesect and touch at the horizon, sea and sky trading off.
And at that moment, it was easy for me to understand why people believe in the doctrine of the communion of the saints.
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