"As the deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God." (Psalm 42:1-2)
Well before dawn I rise and enter the darkened chapel. On the north wall, a reminder of the Roman Catholic origins of this ecumenical centre, is a gold tabernacle in which the sacrament is reserved. A flickering votive candle marks the presence. I settle myself on a nest of pillows gathered near the tabernacle on the north wall and wait.
In the solemn dark neither the spider-like limbs of trees outside nor the Advent creche inside are yet visible. The unseen cradle remains empty, a place hollowed out where God's thirst for us and our thirst for God might meet. It is quiet. The ceramic stone fountain has been left unplugged during the night. Only a faint honking, a reminder that the geese phalanx is continuing south, breaks the deep silence. Only that and the sound of my soul panting at the edge of the stream.
- Wendy M. Wright in "Weavings", July/August 2000
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