Refractions

For the Transfiguration The first was at the water as you moved into 
 the house of purpose that would be your life.
 Dragged through the river
by your prophet cousin,
 drenched and emerging, 
dove descending,  then the voice, “beloved.”  The next was on the mountain,
 Word, and Law, and Prophet – 
 hining face, bright cloud of holiness,  terrified companions,  then the voice, “beloved.”  Then silence down the mountain,  “Not a word, until…”  Until the third, when darkness took the land,  abandonment your cry, “forsaken me”.  sour wine, your crying out and then last breath.  Your baptism, completed in your corpse,  now tears the veil, splits rocks,  shakes earth and empties tombs.  And then the voice, though this time not from heaven:  but from the crucifying soldier who surrenders,  then avows “this was God’s Son!”

  Remembering Julian of Norwich  All that is made, the nut:  in the mystic’s hand,  planted in the earth,  growing and producing,  harvested and home.  In the deepening now, life:  will always come to be,  is always underway,  always already is.  For to us a child:  is always to be born,  is always being born,  is always born already.  For to us, great love: is always to be risked,  is always being risked,  is always risked, already.  All that is made: will always come to be,  is always underway,  always already is:  The deepening now,  the nut in the mystic’s hand,  all that is made.

You were not the first, were you,  to trust the life of one just born,  to let that be  what bids you end with hope?  Still, how did you know the deeper thing?  How did you recognize this weak-and-needing One  as strong enough  to bear the weight  of your own falling life?  Were you bathed in light,  enough light for a whole world?  And did it come from those two eyes,  seeing you so brightly against the gloom of age?  Is what you saw so clearly,  through dim eyes and temple smoke,  the not-so-distant crisis  when this baby’s wounded hands  would carry us, whose souls are pierced – you, Anna, Mary, all creation –  home? (For the Feast of the Presentation, February 2)

How do we know at all?  Is knowing just the firing of synapses,  objective jolts that organize  electrons into truth?  Or can we also know from foolish stories,  that cross through seas and centuries  and land upon our hearts,  the stories that our broken hearts collect?  What is it softens hearts to breaking open,  that readies us to know, by open hearts,  another sovereignty, another realm –  one ruled by healing, gentleness and beauty,  by weakness that is strength misunderstood,  and folly that is wisdom, after all?  Epiphany begins among the shadows:  deep darkness, ominous gifts, the smoke of prayer;  a crown of gold and then a crown of thorns;  myrrh for anointing – holiness and death.  The story that is grief is in our path,  that tells of crosses, tombs and tears and love,  in which appears the shape of our redemption that makes its way into our softened hearts and carries us a...

“Here is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1.29)  “He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.” (Psalm 40.2)  "It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth." (Isaiah 49.6)  “We are all just walking each other home.” (Baba Ram Das)  Walking Home It is not sins but sin the Lamb subtracts:  the math is singular, the sin is one  sin of the world:  a broken shadow over us,  that breaks us hard and sharp against each other;  a sucking bog beneath us miring us –  to push and grab and groan against each other,  who should be friends and neighbours walking home.  No light thing, this taking sin away,  not just for some by birth or creed or nation:  if chosen, no...

The young man stands on the east side of the river, expectant within an expectant crowd, eyes fixed on his cousin as he leads one person after another from east to west through the ancient waters. Who could not hear the echoes of Joshua and Elisha as John leads the people through the brackish water to inhabit the land in a renewed and renewing response to the way of the Liberator. (No wonder it draws hostility from the temple and the court.) Joshua led a nation through this water to a land in which – they promised – they would follow the way of the Liberator. Elijah and Elisha crossed out of the land, and Elisha returned alone, both of them part of a long struggle against prophets of other gods who made shiny promises to that nation, to that people.   And now the young man watches as his cousin takes his turn in the witness of the prophets. The shiny idolatrous things are once more on offer from the establishment, the temple and the court: to make peace with the prince, with C...