The smell of incense, the sound of Byzantine chant in Greek -- in a language I don't speak -- the glitter of an old icon in a darkened church, the voices of a gospel choir, the heartfelt cry of young warriors "speak" to me in nonverbal, nonintellectual ways. At those moments I'm not visiting a black church as a white man, I'm not visiting Fort Benning and the Rangers, nor am I trying to figure out what the Greek chant "means." I am not doing anything at all. I am being human. And I believe I am experiencing God.
Patience With God, p. 158
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