A Stream of Light

As we stepped out of the cathedral, wind blew snow from the rooftops, past the lit windows of the Cotswold-like cottage beside the cathedral. It was almost like a Thomas Kinkade painting—except that our destination was not the warmth of a bucolic cottage, but the lawn of the darkened White House, where no one but our fellow peace witnesses waited with welcome. So we passed the inviting windows by and kept walking. Our soggy sneakers slipped on the icy street as we sang songs such as "We are marching in the light of God" and, yes, even "Kumbaya." Eventually the snow and sleet stopped, and as we crested the hill, the marchers in front of us held their candles high. What a sight! The stream of light eclipsed the cold.

Laurel Rae Mathewson is an editorial intern at Sojourners.

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