Sacred Memories

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI have this sacred memory.  It was the summer of 2010.  The previous 4 years had been difficult.  But now I was in Rennes, France on my honeymoon.  While my wife was napping.  I went for a walk in the old town.  I sat down at an outdoor table on the cobbled street.  I watched the pedestrians stroll past the 5oo year old buildings that faced me.  I ordered a beer, one I’d never heard of,  Picon Biere.  It’s flavour was a surprise that I couldn’t identify at first–oranges?!  This beer was incredible.  The setting was incredible.

Then I experienced this feeling of profound peace.  It was a gift of grace.  I’d never felt this so strongly before.  This for me is a sacred memory.

I have no doubt this feeling had a transcendent source.  God was behind it somehow.  I don’t know what it meant, but I carry it with me always.

Dostoyevsky wrote of these moments:

People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one’s heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

Brothers Karamazov

I’m curious about your sacred moments.  Do other people have them?  I don’t hear much talk about them.  If you are willing to share them, post them in the comment section.


  1. So many sacred memories. Most notable, the ‘worlds’ I created as a child living on a farm with not much in the way of entertainment. I made nature my own playground. The indentations in the gravel were roads, the leaves of the poplar trees were money, the bushes were houses, the canola fields were freedom and the cloud gazing was my dreams. In all of this imagination, I had a profound sense that God, a Divine being, was there and was pleased in my creating. This intuition and knowledge has shaped every major event in life since. That lonely child has never lost her companion.

  2. It was summer, 1992. Ambling through old Prague, I came across Tyne Church with its vaulted and frescoed ceiling. I paid the equivalent of $2.00 and sat on an old wooden pew, resting my backpack next to my feet. The trumpet and pipe organ concert which ensued brought me to tears. It was my holy moment, and I come back to it often.

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