Noting the assemblage of achievers and aspirants, of young and old, and of individuals from around the world, the chaplain asked what had drawn such a heterogeneous group together: why were we there?
The answer, he said, could be found in the Scriptures, words written centuries, millenia ago. The answer, I thought, can be seen in the faces, the clothing, the actions of each of us as we joined in the singing of hymns, or we didn't; as we partook of the communion offered on this day commemorating All Saints, or we didn't; as we reached out, routinely or enthusiastically, to grasp the hands extended to us by our neighbors.
Indeed, why were we there? Was it essential for us to be familiar with the Scriptures of the Old Testament or the New to make our being in that spot meaningful? Could this familiarity be crucial to our common quest for inspiration, understanding, and compassion? Did we have to look back hundreds or thousands of years to know why we were there together?
Not at all! Some of us had only to look in awe at the stained glass windows and the high arches above us; to listen joyfully to the a capella voices of the choir and the magnificent tones of the Benjamin Duke organ; to feel the comfort of perhaps three or four hundred others around us, rejoicing in the gift of life, and searching for its meaning.
Within the tiny, but symbolic span of three Taylor generations and two continents, time and space had once again fused for me into one entity. In the shared quest for a meaningful relationship with one another and with the universe, there was, indeed, in that inspired and inspiring setting, the presence of the spirit that makes all of us one.