When I hear strains of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"
they remind me of how the Christ operates in thought:
simply
firmly
gently.
If brass bands were blaring through my house
I wouldn't hear the sonata
even if it were playing.
And if trombones of personal sense
thunder through my house—
crashing cymbals of self-pity
blaring horns of false pride —
I don't hear the full notes
of Soul's harmony
even though it is always playing.
No wonder Jesus said
to go into a closet
and shut the door.
