“Lord, give us eyes that we might see”, the Vicar intoned in the Chapel.

“But how can I change into what I’m not?”, came the doubtful response of my heart.

I thought of the sunset eve, with the Light at its most glorious at the very point of its departure, all Creation raising a chorus in its praise, and how with its return at the dawning, the little birds would overflow with joy, when warm rays touch the chord in their hearts.

Then my eyes met those of a little girl seated nearby, gazing at the stained-glass windows. Not at the first of the three windows, which depicted a man gathering a golden harvest of wheat; nor at the picture of the gardener surrounded by rosy blossoms and flocks of doves. But she was looking intently through a plain empty window, the last of the three windows, with its border checkered in red and blue stained glass, like rubies and sapphires, interspersed with pure white roses, a Cross, each with a shining centre, barely visible, yet warm as the Sun. But the window pane itself was cross-hatched with plain lead supports for the plain glass window panes.

“Why do you like that one?”, I asked. “I can see the outside!” said the little girl, “A bird might come and say ‘hello’, or an angel, or maybe even God!”. We thought together how the Divine might come upon us unawares whilst we were busy with other things. With child-like vision, pure and uncluttered, we could be such a window, allowing our inner Christos Self to shine through when the right moment arrived for It to do so. We have the potential to perceive the Divine, having the light of our spiritual Sun within, a clear window free from the dust of illusion, and an eye receptive to its light.