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The sermon for Wednesday, Mar. 20, 2002 is: stars 9:23 p.m. I've just watched Amel�e, or whatever that movie's called; Jerry had given me his copy of it a month or two ago and it's been sitting about whilst I distracted myself with this and that. Have you seen it? It's strange that one watches a movie hoping that the guy and the girl, so perfectly made for one another (movies require that), finally get together, since movies require that of course they will get together; where's the suspense? I watched Amelie hoping that they would get together, and when they do get together, I felt... happy? Strange. All I can tell you is that I felt happy. I feel happy. After the credits ended and my DVD player started playing its screen saver, I went outside to smoke. I was startled, like physically startled, to find the night sky so beautiful. The crescent moon is levitating in a net of stars, all so brilliant and clear. And I blew smoke at all that useless beauty and thought of writing about it. And here I am writing about it; and all I can feel is both this unbearable happiness, inspired by a movie with absolutely no surprises except its surprising joy, all I feel is that and the equally heavy weight of my failure in telling you about this. I wish you were here, so I could just show you. Or that I were with you, somehow, to see your days and stars. I thought of a time when I was very small, even smaller than I am now, and my father was still alive. My dad liked burning things, at least I remember him setting fire to things and then running and shouting to get our family and neighbours to come and view what he had wrought. One night he was burning and I was gathering books, magazines, toys, anything flammable for him to inspire. He threw what I gathered into the burning trashcan and contentedly told me to look at the sky. The night was burning with a billion fires of its own. My father said, John, look at all those goddamn stars. All of them so far away. It is beautiful, this night, it is beautiful. The radio is playing this gorgeous orchestral piece-- oh, it's the soundtrack to the movie "Iris," how funny. And outside the moon, and the stars. The intransigent stars, the intractable stars.
 
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