I have been falling in love with Chicago recently. Well I've always been in love with Chicago, but the feeling has been becoming more prominent as a walk through the streets. This is for a number of reasons. We have been looking for jobs in Washington D.C. The place where its all at. The destiny our educations have prepared us for. But after spending three months there last hot and lonely summer, it's hard to be excited about it. I love Chicago's jazz history. I love how cold it gets; we all hate it and we all love it. But its not just me who has a romance with Chicago. I'm not the only one who's chest swells exploring the old book stores in Hyde Park, or walking through Grant Park under a gray sky and surrounded by orange leaves with the Art Institute lions in the distance. I'm not the only one gets giddy when the Christkindle Market pops up in Daley Plaza or when the hot summer brings out the hipster dancers at the six corners in Wicker Park or the cadre of music festivals in all corners of the city. Many others have recognized the unique rough elegance of a city of industry in the heart of the midwest, with a history of labor, slaughter, The World's Fair, Art Deco skyscrapers, and wind in all its definitions.
A few weeks ago Pastor Bob at Grace Chicago read Sandburg's 'Chicago' to use the city as an illustration of God's love for his children. We are broken. We are sinful. And yet there is value there, and we are loved. Chicago is that rough sinful person in all its beauty.