God can be found in Boston. In falling head over heels for a city and for people. In a walk along the river and in architecture you never expected to find. In riding the T and unexpectedly shooting out above ground and the city opens up in front of you across the water and in a street fair in Harvard Square. In a beautiful old house and in a dance party with people you met the night before. In a fascinating person with the same name as a historical character in a movie you like quite a bit and in walking around at night without having anywhere specific to be. In finding out you like a certain architect a lot more after being in one of his buildings and in finding out that the architect is getting sued because the roof leaks. In seeing a dear friend buy breakfast for a homeless guy like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. In seeing a picture of a Black Madonna stained glass window at a church the aforementioned fascinating person goes to, and then thinking about what that window really means. In quickly talking about how having children is literally the most spiritual thing a person can do. In hearing someone talk about feminism and sexuality, and thinking about how it’s a shame Christians can’t get past the whole “He” thing of God and realize that God can very much be a mother too. In seeing a clear passion in someone’s life for people who aren’t like her. In a reflecting pool and in the mass of people on the train.
In Boston, in people, in the air, in the water, in the soil, in everywhere.