When we think of God's creation, we think of fertile green hills, lazy blue skies, towering mountains, or perhaps even powerful lightning. One would seldom find a kindergarten Sunday School classroom painted with skyscrapers and row-houses, much less parking garages.
We kind of separate God's creation (Earth) and man's creation (urbanity) as good and evil. In some ways, maybe they are just that.
As I sit here in my apartment on the cockroach-eaten recliner I found in the basement, gazing out my window toward a land which was once a green expanse of flourishing trees and plants, my meditations are interrupted by an eight-story parking garage whose lights all too often keep me up late and wake me up early. Had this cement structure never been erected, I would quietly watch the residents on the hill enter and leave their homes. I would see the trains depart from and arrive at the station. I would notice the bridges which connect separate worlds....and the people who cross them, leaping from one life to the other. Instead, I see the silver Honda and platinum SAAB rest all day in second-story safety until they are taken back across the river at rush hour before the geographically-honest residents step upon their nocturnal streets.
But today, I returned to my meditations, noticing the cross-shaped pillar between the Honda and the SAAB. The pillar crucified my self-ignorance and brought to life my identity. My meditations now tell me that if I can see God in this, then I am richer than this bankrupt city.
Never has their been a better view than to see God in the most tyrannical artificial structures.
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