The Cross

In lands of gold stupas, mosques, orange-robed monks, and morning offerings, I don't see it very often.

But when I do,
on the side of a church in Situbondo, Java,
on a guesthouse window in Chiang Mai,
on a tourist brochure in Hat Yai,
on a road sign by the outskirts of Singburi,
I celebrate it as I would the sight of a loved one after a long time apart.

Back home, it represents denominations and divisions, creeds and catechisms, theologies and theories. There, it has become so commonplace that at best, I fail to ponder its meaning, at worse, fail to even notice.

But here, it means unity, brothers and sisters who share my basic beliefs. Here I long for it and feel a little at home when the symbol gives way to voices and movements even if they are in different languages and cultures.