Home is where the heart is not famished, the eye not starved, the Sacred not banished or desecrated. The Sacred cannot be caught in formulas. It cannot be analyzed, not even in terms of ecology, as beauty cannot be caught in the semantics of esthetics. Fingers pointing toward the Transcendent need no vocabulary, for they do not preach. Beyond the dialects of all religions they witness to a religious attitude toward life itself.
The power of love is in hope,
For by it we await the reward of love.
The failing of hope is the disappearance of love.
Hope is a rest from labors in the midst of labors.
Toils depend on it.
Mercy encircles it.
Experiencing the gifts of the Giver of Life engenders hope.
But he who is without experience remains in doubt.