I’ve been taking pictures of this Friends meetinghouse for more than forty years and I still don’t have it quite right, but little by little I think I’m getting there. I love the simplicity of the wooden benches and white walls and the play of light through clear glass, most of it so old it has ripples.

I love the places where people have worshiped. I can’t explain it, but they seem to retain some residual sense of peace and presence that grounds me. Even in the years when I wasn’t particularly religious, I looked for churches that were open during the day so I could drop in and sit for a while. In the silence I could feel myself drawing closer to a mystery I could not name or explain but knew I wanted more of.

I still do.