Chartres

Light filters through the windows
majestic in its rays,
playing with colors
as I gaze up
in this place of worship,
pilgrimage and peace.
I walk quietly, reverently
past chapels
where centuries
of prayers were made
until I’m captured by a gate,
beyond it steps
leading up to a door
and an arch adorned
with brilliant plays
of light and shade.
I wonder where this goes.
The gate is locked.
I cannot pass
into the beckoning glow,
but only look, alas,
with curious eyes
from my position
here below.

© 2012 by  Barbara R. Williams-Hubbard
Judge’s Choice Award, 2013
St. Catherine of Bologna’s 14th Annual
Photo, Art, and Poetry Exhibition and Sale

Open Door by Maverick City

Performed by Gwen Leggett Blackman, Julie Daidone, and Mark Hatten

Lord, Let Light

glance from every washed
plate, from green drainer or white
stove, let light
shine out at odd
angles, from each clattering
risk I take even 
from this small
here, open
windows, let the sun
spark fire near
or far, when I won’t 
throw open my door
let my elbows un-
hinge, poorest visitors, they visitants
in, let dead center
(like yours) be glory, oh world’s
weeping wall.

© 2021 by Sandra Gerstman

Opening Doors

My parents worked as domestic servants for the Simpsons, a wealthy New York family. In their six-story townhouse on East 91st Street, where I grew up, there was a small powder room off the large dining room on the first floor. When I was young, perhaps two or three years old, I wandered off into this bathroom. I shut the door, turned the key, and locked myself in. Why did I do that? Maybe I was playing hide-and-seek; maybe I was curious to see what would happen. I felt safe, but in a little while, when I wanted to leave, I found the door wouldn’t open. In the meantime, my mother found that I was missing and called my name. I called her from behind the door and she instructed me to put the key in the keyhole and turn it. Such a simple instruction, except I was too young to know which way was right or left. I couldn’t turn the key in the right direction to unlock the door. I’m sure that I panicked and started crying, and, of course, that just made things worse. There was nothing I could do but wait. In a little while, there was a great banging on the outside of the door and soon, the entire door came off its hinges. A fireman peeked in and let me out. How incredibly happy and relieved I was!

Such small events may happen in daily life without much attention, but they can leave an indelible impression on a child’s memory. I hardly remember other incidents of my young life in such great detail, but the fear of being locked in that room has stayed with me all these decades. After that, I never locked the bathroom door with the key and always told my mother where I was so she wouldn’t worry about my whereabouts. But there were deeper lessons that childhood incident hinted at: despite my crying, I still had to be a little more patient and wait before being rescued; I couldn’t follow the right directions until I was of the age to understand what to do; doors don’t automatically open, but sometimes there is hard work involved.

Living through these months of pandemic restrictions has been like being locked in that bathroom. For the beginning months, my home became like that bathroom. I was safe, but confined. I could open the front door, but the invisible coronavirus doors kept me locked in. The virus may not have been right outside my door, but wherever there were people, fear made me cautious and suspicious. I felt secure, locked inside my home cocoon, keeping apart and staying well. My son in Japan called every few days to check on us, cautioning us to stay vigilant and not let our guard down. He was the “COVID policeman,” making sure we were not indulging in any risky behavior by going to crowded places. He himself was working from home and only ventured out to the supermarket for food. He encouraged us to be patient until we got our vaccines, even as he won’t be eligible for the vaccine until many months later in the fall, maybe. Day after day, we watched for the statistics to start to improve, to give us a glimmer of hope. In the meantime, I had become an overfed couch potato, sitting too much during the long months of waiting.

However, I am thankful this period of languishing is coming to an end. We have been so blessed that our country has an abundant supply of vaccines. So many people’s efforts contributed to the development, testing, and distribution of the vaccines. Having my second dose two months ago has unlocked the door of fear to let my wary spirit venture out in cautious small steps. Recently, with the lifting of the mask restrictions for fully vaccinated people, I have cracked open that door further by not wearing a mask outdoors. It feels like a festive holiday to breathe freely the fresh air once again! To be able to see people’s whole faces instead of only half signals a return to normal humanity! Yet, I am also relieved that I can continue to wear a mask indoors in stores, pharmacies, supermarkets, and church, because they continue to have mask mandates. Even if I am fully vaccinated, others may not be. They may also be wearing a mask because they have compromised immune systems, have unvaccinated younger children at home, or have received only one dose. They may just feel comfortable and not ready to give up the mask quite yet. So many scenarios. We just have to be patient with others and ourselves while reaching a level of comfortability. It is a process not to be rushed.

Someday in the near future, I will gradually feel fortified and safe enough to show my whole face indoors, joining others. Just as on the original day of Pentecost, as the Holy Spirit filled the room and hearts of all the believers, I believe the Spirit is moving us in that direction. It will be a glorious day when we are fully unmasked and our spirits feel opened. Let us pray and hope for that day to dawn!

© 2021 by Emy Kamihara

A Mouse Looked Through the Crack in the Wall

Thank you to Janet Spain for submitting this parable. Versions and copies of it appear in many places on the Web. Most cite an unknown author, but someone wrote it and may still hold the copyright to it, so we can’t publish the parable itself. Instead, we encourage you to click this link and view one of the many versions available.