Although not everybody agreed with the music, or the theology, or even the lights, we gathered around each other, some pressed tight, fingers gripping shoulders, allowing emotions to trample past the limits of our simple barriers and bodies we think separate us. It may not have been perfect, and it may not have been correct. In fact, I am certain it was all wrong. But still, we gathered, and we passed our hurt in front of eyes that had never seen it and we laid our rusted souls out in exchange for the chance to feel the passing of another. It was there that we saw the hurting and the imperfections of those we knew. Some of the hurt was known; some was a surprise. Some of the imperfections were well-versed like a hymn sung a few times too many each morning.
We took it all in, music swelling, then quieting to the pitch of the sobs echoing through the room. Some fidgeted in discomfort. Others clung to the moment with the hot fervor of one who has not felt love in too long.
It was in that moment - watching my classmates acting, reacting, praying, hurting, all just trying (and so often failing) to find what it was that God wanted of them. Searching for the beauty in something so imperfect. Right in that moment I found God. Hidden in the ugliness.