...That old library was a spectacular building, I realize now, converted from a colonial church with pillared columns and a wraparound balcony. The childrens books and junior novels were in the lower level, in a kind of crypt with inset windows high in the walls, bookshelves from floor to ceiling. There I found treasure beyond reckoning, as one finds in cathedrals all over Europe, except these were words. To this day I associate libraries with old churches--which only makes sense, I suppose, for in both places one finds a quiet kind of reverence and people of the book. And to this day I associate good books with ordinary summer days: bumblebees buzzing in the crypt windows; nothing much to do except crack open the cover of a library book (one that smells new, and you know you are the first to read it) and enter another world. Ordinary Time is reading time. It is otherworldly time, a time when strange things happen, when tantalizing sounds waft to us from beyond the fields we know. It is a time when we are open to adventures, which is another way of saying we are open to change. We remember certain scenes from certain books like we remember major life events: they become part of our personal histories, listed among the episodes that marked turning points in our lives. Indeed, many of us might include a poet or an author, whether dead or living, among our spiritual mentors. On a quiet evening, curled up with a good story, we have encountered the memorable character, the articulate phrase, the evocative image, the small suggestion, the smuggled truth, the shattering epiphany, which changed us, and we werent even looking to be changed. It enriched our lives, and we didnt even know our own poverty. We were not the same people afterward. [Sarah Arthur, from At The Still Point: A Literary Guide to Prayer in Ordinary Time]
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 06:11:39 +0000
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