These days, like this rendering of the Fourth Presbyterian Church, are a bit of a blur. There are crowds, there is slush, there are lists, there are trips to the post office, there are a few extra drinks. We will forage our storage for cherished decorations; we will go to Gethsemane for the tree. We will try valiantly to get our cards out in time.
Whatever we do, the Fourth Presbyterian Church has seen it all, sitting on the corner of Michigan and Delaware for well over a hundred years. It has watched the crowds grow bigger, the buildings get higher, the Avenue change. It has watched fashion trend and couples fight. It has watched tourists pass from all over; families with excited children; homeless people begging. It has seen decades of brides and grooms, old people gingerly climbing its steps, many funerals, too.
Meanwhile, we see it change, reflecting the day’s light, the blue hours, the sunrises, the lights of man that illuminate the city. We see its ivy change with the season, growing more sinewy with winter, creeping every year closer to the roof, slowly greening and gladdening with all earth in spring.
We stand at the bus, clutching our bags, waiting; we look at the church, and it looks at us.