musings and reflections

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.