You may know it by these names: The Ambitious City, Steeltown, The Lunchbucket, and The Armpit of the Nation. But I know it as Hamilton, my hometown where I've lived all my life.

Even though health care has overtaken heavy industry as Hamilton's largest employer, the city is still known for its two steel manufacturing giants -Stelco and Dofasco. If you drive through the city's east end, factories and smokestacks that blast out red flames surround you. Here is where you see the filth of the city. Since a major highway cuts through Ontario in this industrialized part of town, people often get the impression that Hamilton is a dark, brooding place like something out of a Dickensian novel. But that would sell it short. The city has many beautiful parks, vistas, historical sites and attractions such as the famous Royal Botanical Gardens.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the geography of Hamilton, the Niagara Escarpment runs through the middle of the city across its entire breadth, bisecting the city into "upper" and "lower" parts. Locals call the escarpment "the mountain" while those from out of town laugh at this name for the world's longest low lying plateau of its type. The escarpment is in many places a 100-meter (330-foot) vertical wall of limestone shale with many waterfalls and creeks falling over it. These beautiful sources of water flow into the large and equally magnificent Hamilton Harbour.

I grew up in a lovely section of the lower city, but I now have ascended to the mountain! One of my favourite things about Hamilton is the beautiful view I get when I drive up the escarpment. An impressive canopy of trees shades my particular route. In the springtime, the feathered green buds are spectacular; in winter, you get a clear view of Burlington Bay; at nighttime, thousands of tiny lights glisten below. And in the autumn, the leaves on the trees provide a colorful, leafy tunnel to drive through. It was on one such fall day that a thought struck me.

I was driving up a mountain access-admiring the oft-ignored beauty of my city-when a song started to play on the classical radio station I was listening to. It was called "Falling Leaves." The composer, without using any words at all, had completely captured the mood of an autumn day. As woodwinds played descending scales, leaves gently fell from the trees above. One leaf in particular seemed to be doing a choreographed dance to the music as it softly glided onto my windshield. Although falling leaves do not actually make a sound, the composer's instrumentations reflected nature's actions. It didn't matter what language you spoke, what your socio-economic background was, or where you were born. If you heard that music and saw those leaves, you would instantly make the connection. The music had transcended all barriers of communication.

Sometimes as a Christian, I struggle with "making the connection" during communion. At times, I feel that I somehow miss the mystery of the Lord's Supper, never quite getting the same profound experience that others have. This may be because I am always playing music during a communion service and am not in the position to simply sit back and take in the experience. But when I heard "Falling Leaves" that day, I felt I had gained a better understanding of the whole idea behind the Lord's Supper.

No matter what language you speak, what your sins are, or who you are God has provided you and all of us with the universal language of communion. The bread and the wine are instantly recognizable symbols that engage us in a relationship with Jesus Christ. God himself has broken down all communication barriers between Christians. In a world that often appears dark and formidable, the beauty of the Lord's Supper shines through.

Communion-like music-has a profound way of connecting people across the world. You just have to take the time to stop, look and listen.