In reverence, we would all close our eyes. Then, the handsome priest would speak seldomly, in Latin, and often, in English, when praying, or performing any of those rites in a Sunday mass.

While preaching, then, softly, he would weave the scriptures with relevant simple stories. At times, fictional. Very creative. He used to observe the rules, guilding the pronunciation of the English words, too.

I remember those few times he would correct his alter servers whenever there is any hitch; with that soft smile. If you weren't observant, you wouldn't know.

'cause of him, I often love to sit at the far end of the cathedral bench, so that whenever he's passing, I would behold this glory clearly. So that I would be able to sniff in the smell that comes from the incense burner.

Solitude. Beauty. Fragrance.

Peace. Mindfulness. Love.

Whenever we go there, or stay in our abodes, these, and other virtues, do melt the flesh. And gently provokes the spirit to worship.

Worship, without the spirit, is not true.

You don't force the spirit too.

You woo

it.

That Rev. Father wasn't an angel, but till today, I can't still forget his lips, his gentle gestures; his all... Why? He made 'us' to worship.

Again, worship, without the spirit, is not true.

As you can find Him in those castles, you can find Him too, in your closets. Worship Him.


BALOGUN Kehinde.

#BalogunTheMinstrel

#balogunwrites