The pillars were a century old, and the stone was ages old, and the light ageless, and what they all held was eternal. Dorothy took a place and Charles beside her, an hour before the service, in the quiet. It was a different silence than of books, the silence of light and stone; not the silence of words but of Word.
The hour and the silence passed. There was music; they sang; words were song. Words were spoken; Word was spoken, and they listened.
“ ‘ I am the Light of the world. ’ Why do we need light? To see, to ‘ not walk in darkness but have the Light. ’ Not in the world’s light, but in the ‘ Light of the world.’ ”
They listened.
“ ‘ You judge according to the flesh; I am not judging anyone. But if I do judge, My judgment is true. ’ ”
They listened.
“ ‘ His disciples asked, Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind? ’ His judgment was true. ‘ It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him. ’ ”
They walked home in the world’s sunlight, outside, where it was everywhere. “How should I judge?” Charles said. “Was it Karen Liu who sinned, or her parents?”
“But she isn’t blind.”
“I’m the one who’s blind.”
“No you aren’t,” Dorothy said.
“I’m walking in darkness, not in light. I can’t see.”
“Maybe it was neither she that sinned, nor her parents.”
Charles stopped. “What could that mean?”