A River Ran Through It

The urban gave way to the pine forest at a spot called the grotto. In the distance the 10:00 mass echoed through the thickett. Just across the street, invisible from even the nearest edge were laundromat's and coffee shops and liquor stores vying for the time and attention of passers by and drivers through.

The grotto didn't cry out, unless you were listening for the silent spot among the roar. All along the path, the stations of the cross juxtaposed the sorrow and the joy that marked the life of Christ, going all the way back to his Annunciation. It was hard to imagine much sorrow walking through the Grotto.

There is a section there called "The Peace Garden," with a river/brook and several ponds intended to remind visitors of the waters of baptism, the sacred waters that cleanse us and symbolize the hope of forgiveness. So close to a flow like the Colombia River, I also thought of the one out of whom Christ would make flow Rivers of Living Water.

It was one of those moments with the air of eternity. The colors seemed more vivid, the air more crisp, the scents more alive than in other places. I've been lucky enough to encounter a few of those moments. Once when I was 12 in Washington D.C. Another in the Austrian Alps, and then today, sitting on a hewn wooden bench in the Peace Garden.

"...when Peace like a river attendeth my way... it is well with my soul..."