Mood: looking to chill after a long, long day
Listening to: Norah Jones
Last night we celebrated the Art of Prayer. We do this once a semester
during our regular Monday night Prayer Gatherings. Students share their
art work as an expression of love to God. We had singing, original song
perfomances, a dance, a reading, two poems, visual arts (photography
and collage), and home-maker arts; Jen made a beautiful chocolate cake,
and Audry, a Tulane Freshman, hand-made some very nice stationery and
envelopes. We used one to write a letter to campus missionaries in
Germany, and the rest will be sent to Kirk & Amy so they can keep
in touch with friends and family back here in the states.
We had a great time, as InterVarsity Christian Fellowship also joined
us. What I liked most about the night was the fact that we truly
worshipped God. It was not a talent show with all the attending ego. It
truly was the art of prayer. Talking to and expressing love to God is
not a science. It is art.
here's the poem I shared:
Does God sing in the Western metric style
with all its mathematic tones & scales?
Does God abide by alphabetic pitch--
Italian speed notation?
I ask because I've never felt an eighth note fluff my hair;
I've never fit my head inside the hollow of whole,
or sat on the subtle hat of a long rest.
The music that surrounds my living and my dying,
the reproduction of my cells--
their death and resurrection--
is more livid,
more intoxicating,
more alive
than anything Beetoven wrote,
and yet so soft as to indict a Brahms, a DeBussy
on counts of violence to the song God sings so long.