OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

Dinosaur  On the edge Of extinction Fossil frozen In ice Drowning Going deaf Almost blind Dumb Silent  Speechless Losing my grip I might as well Be on Mars Disconnected Out of touch Alien My sadness Is your joy Your hope Is my despair My protest Your peace The death I mourn You celebrate And when you speak I think I understand But your words are code For something else I am lost here Limbo has claimed me A nowhere state of being Could this be The threshold Of Eternity?

  The goat that goes to Azazel bears burdens not his own sins he did not commit to a desolate mountain on a cliff at the  edge of nothingness he languishes with the anguish of a multitude God alone knows what will become of him "He will dwell on the heights; His place of defence will be the fortresses of rocks; his bread  will be given him,  his water will be sure." (Isaiah 33:16)

  "I was always in your Presence; You were holding me by my right hand.  What else have I in heaven but you? Apart from you I want nothing on earth. My body and my heart faint for joy; God is my possession for ever.  To be near God is my happiness. I have made the Lord God my refuge."  (Psalm 73) Two images are uppermost in my mind today. Both are videos. One is a devoted priest with a fairly successful series on YouTube. His style strikes me as a bit stagey, is confrontational, sure of itself and somewhat accusatory, pointing the finger at us priests who he sees as being responsible for the state of the church in Ireland. Responsible because we are not praying enough. On this Easter Monday I think, “oh, give us a break.” It was recorded a couple of weeks ago but was sent to me yesterday as an Easter gift. I didn’t get beyond the first few minutes. Accusation has the reverse effect on me and makes me less able to do what is being asked of m...

Seated between two strangers. Strangers to me and to each other. As the aircraft is lifting off, ascending into the late May sky, the man on my left makes the sign of the Cross as does the young woman on my right. Hers is more hurried, half hidden. I pray silently, commending all our lives into the hands of the Lord.   When it’s allowed, I open out the tray top and start writing sadness into my journal, the shock of a deep sadness that cut into me in the wake of great joy. It is something as old as Eden – where there is harmony, division will appear; where there is joy, sadness raises its head.   Henry Nouwen is able to see this in a positive way when he writes, “life and death are not opponents but do, in fact, kiss each other at every moment of our existence.” The same is true of joy and sorrow even though I find this hard to embrace. But I have noticed how Mary Magdalene’s fidelity to her grief only helped to intensify her experience of the risen Lord. Again, Henry Nouwen...

Sadness Is concussion It leaves you reeling Out of focus Disoriented Sadness Is the war That follows peace The storm That follows calm The dark That follows light Sorrow after joy It cuts deep Into the marrow Of the introvert Sadness Feels like failure It slaps you in the face Knocks you off your feet Sadness is hate After love The lie That follows truth Death That follows life It is the upper room Of loss The Chapel of our grief When we abide there Long enough in prayer In the depths Of our distress We see the Spirit move Moving us out of self Outward to the other Not as preacher But companion Ever pilgrim Passing through Ever seeking Unencumbered ways To travel light Together And alone +++ ( Passing Through by Leonard Cohen )