Dark & Light

Dark within darkness, cloud within a cloud,
when every way is hidden and comfort is a shroud,
when shadows deepen blackly
in the byways of the night
and thoughts flow slow and thickly
and truth hides out of sight.

As sun can blind the eyes with a burst of umbral pain;
a central spot so dark and an image that remains
blotting earth and sky – all loss, and nothing gain.

Darkest in the cloud within the darkest cloud
where shadows deepen blackly
when thoughts flow slow and sickly
and every way is hidden and comfort is a shroud
in the byways of the night when truth is out of sight.

I see you in the shadow by the love you cannot see
by the tears of love and grief that nailed me to the tree.
What blinds you to me?

See the glad giver who gave so much for love,
who, for all Man, died at your hand
that you might see and understand.

See and understand, believe I am.
I so loved the world that all that I have done
is so you may believe that you and I are one.

Dark with excess of light, my love,
as by a naked sun,
then know that I am here, my love;
and in my darkest hour, my love,
my glad gift lit my heart, my love
and eased my pain.
I saw you by that light, and all my loss was gain

And though you cannot see I hold you in my sight,
your darkest hour and mine both glow in one bright light.

Depth

You say I think too deeply while the sun is on the sand
and sparkles in the shallows and spreads across the land,
and little fish come darting and nibble at our toes.

You say I think too deeply, but here out in the bay
the sea shelves blue and deeper, and larger fishes play,
and sun comes thin and slanting, and darkens as it goes.

How can I think too deeply when all around is deep?
and echoes as though Heaven is waking after sleep;
or like the night-bird, chanting to incarnadine the rose.

Are the stars still shining faintly in these shadowed ocean deeps,
where the sea as dark as wine has been given for a sign
of the deep that calls to deep in the human and Divine?

Does the wave-sound filtered finely from the sunlight and the foam
carry echoes touched with starlight and a distant call of home?
Though clouded with a doubt is there yet an Avalon
that calls across the waters and forever draws me on?

Are the sunlight in the shallows,
.      and the sand between our toes,
.and the sunlight faintly filtered
.       that darkens as it goes,
and the chanting nightingale
.       with the rose thorn at his breast
at one with all who labour that shall be given rest?

There is a tale that once all roses were white until, one night, a nightingale fell in love with a rose and, singing his love but getting no response, sang ever more sweetly, closer and closer, until, pressing his heart against her stem, he died upon a thorn, staining her with his own spilled blood; since when, all roses of love have been red.

 

Mass & Energy

Shimmer, glimmer, shine,
when the sunlight shivers in heat,
and mirage pools flash reflected sky
on the tarmac road ahead.

Shimmer, glimmer, shake,
when the waving ears of wheat
roll like the sea in a summer swell
in field on field outspread.

Shimmer, glimmer, gleam,
when the stars in a milk-white sheet
shine down upon this darkling world
on which their light is shed.

And the shimmering waves that are here and there
in the atom’s uncertain heart,
reach to the ends of the universe
of which they are a part.

The energy of the universe
is bound in the shimmer and shine
of the speed of light, times the speed of light,
times the mass of the heavenly wine
that is drunk anew in the toast of love
that is His, and yours, and mine.

The Law of Love

There was a wise mullah who, at the end of his evening teaching, would ask his four pupils one question, which they would answer one by one, beginning with the weakest pupil and ending with the brightest. It was a good policy which prevented the brightest from wasting time on easy answers which would leave the others with nothing to say.

One evening he said, ‘Our thoughts today have been many and taxing. I do not want to burden you further, so my question this evening is simple: why do we not eat pork?’

After being invited to speak the first pupil replied, ‘Because it is the command of Allah, both in the ancient scriptures and in the Holy Q’uran, and to obey Allah is the greatest aim that man can have in life, which is why our faith is called Islam, which means obedience, and that is why we do not eat pork.’

The mullah praised the pupil, saying, ‘You have spoken wisely and well, and although it is my custom to praise even the poorest answer for whatever kernel of truth lies in it, in this instance I find no need for correction at all.’

He turned to the second pupil who replied as follows:

‘All that my fellow pupil says is true, but I would add that a pig is an animal that eats in the dirt. It wallows in its own slime and where it wallows, it eats. Allah, who gives us life and set our father Abraham to be our guide in all obedience, gave us this command because He only wants good for those who obey His commands and, for those who do not, they alone shall suffer from eating the flesh of this unclean animal. That is why we do not eat pork.’

The mullah gave even higher praise to this pupil, ‘because,’ he said, ‘not only have you shown that obedience to the will of Allah is the highest aim of man, but you have also shown his tender mercy towards those who obey him and his stern justice to those who do not.

The third student now began his answer.

‘I bow before the wisdom of my fellow pupils, but perhaps I may add something; In many countries pigs are now bred in clean surroundings and well fed, and it has been shown that their meat in these conditions can be, I am told, sweet and wholesome. But our forefathers who obeyed the will of Allah in this matter passed this law on to us and we keep it today. In so doing we give honour to them and through them to The Prophet, may his name be praised, and to our father Abraham; and so we stand with them in obedience to Allah, and this is why we do not eat pork.’

The Mullah paused before replying, then praised the third pupil greatly.

‘You have spoken fully and well, for obedience to Allah, understanding of His mercy and compassion, fear of His just wrath and honour to the Prophet, may peace be upon him, and to our forefathers who kept the Law, are what lead to perfection.

He turned then to his fourth pupil who as yet had not spoken, and said, ‘I think your fellow students have answered wisely and well and to add more to such a complete answer may be vanity. there is no shame if you have nothing to add.’

‘Indeed,’ replied the wisest student, ‘there is nothing to add that would not be mere embellishment and vanity, for obedience to Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, and to honour our father Abraham and the Prophet, peace be upon him, is surely the path to that pefection which is our duty.

‘And yet,’ he continued, ‘there is something further I feel I must say.’

The mullah frowned slightly as the student took a deep breath before continuing, ‘This morning the sun rose beautifully over the mountains, it sparkled like diamonds on the sea and now is setting in fiery grandeur in the West. A soft wind blows and the fig and vine leaves tremble at its touch. All this is a gift from Allah like a precious jewel a lover gives to his beloved. How can one so loved not respond? I do not eat pork, but I pray that whatever I do, I shall do it because I love Allah.’

There was a silence for a time; then, without speaking, the mullah slowly unwound his turban, folded it gently and laid it on the fourth student’s head.

Pain and Prayer

When I began this site in June 2015 I wrote that all existence is co-existence (the same theme pervades my book Namestone). There is a use for this in dealing with those pains, small or large, that we suffer from time to time, and the more persistent ones that just won’t go away.

Pain can be overwhelming, dominant, crippling, making prayer come in unavoidable gasps or silent sobs.

But not always.

Pain is a master of disguise. It hides under a cloak of words, masquerades as a hundred little irritants, small smarts, failures. The prayers we make at those times can be just as involuntary. Mistaking them for blasphemies we may not recognise them as prayers; what we get may be an answer, but not as we know it. We can be as dissatisfied with our prayers for ourselves as easily as with our prayers for others. We all have our share of pains and weaknesses, or worries and woes – unhappy pains, the many little or large ‘crosses’ we carry in our luggage through life.

But if Christ bore the pain of the cross for our sake, for our sins, our failings, can we not bear these little things for others? Use them as a reminder. Every time you feel your pain, commit to God a pain someone else carries. Do not ask for it to be taken away, dedicate it to that someone. Ask for it to be a reminder of that of your friend. Every time you feel it, commit your friend’s trouble to the arms of God. Co-existence is not only getting along with other people but caring and sharing.

You may find you have gone for a time without feeling it. That was good. Then it returns. That is good too, a reminder of your friend. Phone or speak to her, to him. Do not mention your own problem, show you care about hers, about his. Shared pain, even when your friend does not know of yours, is like sharing a heavy load.

What seems like a problem can become a small reminder of God-in-Christ’s act at Easter. Your personal ills will seem less sad. Existence is, and always must be, co-existence.

The Road to Emmaus

I was on my way, responsible,
duty bound, committed,
not knowing why;
lost.

They would be waiting, the room prepared,
Bitter herbs, wine, bread,
but I asked why;
lost.

I turned away,
rootless, bruised and scared.
I walked by, all I trusted, dead.
I knew not why;
lost.

Lost, the meaning of my life and hopes,
my faith,
and she I loved, behind me,
tearless, crying,
lost.

Six steps behind me, dutiful,
priced above rubies,
the wife of my youth,
weeping, hopeless,
she and I,
lost.

We should have gone in,
the final feast day called,
Torah, the living Law,
but I asked, ‘Why?’
Lost, lost, lost.

Ah! Wife of my youth!
Priced above rubies,
six paces behind me, dutiful,
how can I tell you your duty is nothing,
nothing.
Lost.

I walked behind him,
six paces behind, dutiful,
a dutiful wife.
It was all I had left.
He needed me more now
than all the years from our youth.

A woman learns to keep on.
Love may be lost,
trust may be false,
hope abandoned.
We keep on.
The harvest fails,
the men despair,
children die,
we do not know why.
Keep on.

My tears mingled with his on the road.
He slowed,
hand stretched behind
to me.
I took it.

At some deserted spot we stopped.
Home far ahead,
hope far behind,
hands clasped.
He asked,
‘Why? How? What now?’

‘Keep on,’ I said,
‘if hope is lost, home is still ahead.’
He let my hand fall, weeping.

I could not see him through my tears.
I felt for his hand and felt mine grasped,
Strongly, firmly, flowing with life.

A stranger stood there holding us both.

‘What are you saying to one another
as you walk along?
Why are you so sad?’

Forgiveness

We are drawing near to Easter, the time of the sacrificial love of our Father, God in Jesus, Christ, the Son of God, the Son of Man.

God’s children often see the cross as punishment taken by Christ upon Himself, dwelling so much on punishment and guilt (which were inflicted and caused by mankind) that we miss the much greater love that He showed.

I wrote of this love in How we Love Children, The World God Loved and So Loved, and today begin a series of posts which you will find under the ‘Dame Julian‘ tab above. Dame Julian had a wonderful revelation of our Father’s love for us which I am trying to put into modern form interwoven with thoughts her writing inspired in me.

I will still continue my usual blog posts every two weeks or so. Today I want to pass on something that causes problems for many people – the difficulty of forgiving and our sense of failure when we cannot forgive.

How often have we heard someone say, ‘I can forgive but I can’t forget’? How many little incidents are there that memory, like an internal vicious gossip, brings to the fore? undeserved slights, retorts we should have made but were just not quick enough, ill treatment or slanders against those we love?

Forgiveness is not easy. It comes hard. For hard reasons. It is hard to do. So much so that when parents forgive the killer of their child, or the victim of an atrocity forgives the perpetrator, it makes headline news. We may find it hard to believe.

And Easter, when ‘Christ died for our sins’ (our sins, but why can’t I forget theirs?). Does that wipe it all away, or does it all return like chronic pain?

‘If you are bringing a gift to the altar and you have enmity with your brother, leave your gift at the altar. Go and make peace with your brother and then return and offer your gift.’

We cannot buy peace of mind with a gift to Christian Aid or the church building fund. It has been bought already, at great cost. We need to pass it on.

‘Yes Lord, but some things are too hard, or have been borne for too long, or it is too late, or I JUST CAN’T DO IT!’

What can the Cross possibly offer for that? Every Easter we bear a cross of our own, on which our lack of forgiveness is nailed. What does Christ on the Cross offer us for that?

One thing. A little, tiny thing, so small that no-one else seems to have noticed it. Come with me to the foot of the Cross and I will show you.

Listen. What did he say about those who crucified him? Don’t listen to what people tell you he said. They will tell you he forgave them. But listen. What did he say?

He said, ‘Father forgive them…’ not, ‘I forgive them, Father…’ He committed their forgiveness to his Father. You may take from that whatever it gives you but one thing it cannot give us is the power to do more than he did in that moment. There are times when forgiveness can be, and needs to be, placed into our Father’s hands. Whatever our weakness, He is strong. His  crucifixion was an act of sacrificial love. All forgiveness must be born of love.

We are not Christ but at Calvary elements combine: The crucifixion is the greatest thing a man has done for all humanity, the greatest thing a man has done for God, and the greatest thing our Father, in Christ, has done for us. He and the Father are one in love, and want, more than anything, that we share and return that love. If we are to be changed by the Cross it is not only from our sins, but from our failure to forgive the sins of others. If we surrender this to our Father, not with an angry, ‘God forgive you!’ but with an anguished desire and a regret for our own failing, we may find we are less troubled by our inability.

There is another element to this. Peter once asked Jesus how many times he should forgive someone who wrongs him and asks to be forgiven, quoting a figure more than double that mentioned in Amos and was effectively told the number was unlimited. The salient point, however, was that forgiveness had to be asked for. There are times, and the crucifixion was one, in which forgiveness was not asked. Then it had to be entirely committed to God.

When we are tempted to say, ‘I may forgive but I cannot forget.’ we usually mean we can neither forgive nor forget. Do not try to forget, forgetting may not be possible. Remember the most important thing and commit forgiveness and your inability to forget, humbly to God.

Christmas sets me thinking.

We are often overwhelmed by emotions surrounding events, religious and non-religious. We can be partly blinded by them; particularly by the sweet tinsel of Christmas – just how silent is a night while a baby is born in a stable cavern? How still is a small town when it is overcrowded and every room and caravanserai full for a census? What would it have been like?

New Little Town Of Bethlehem

Oh, little town of Bethlehem
so full of noise and dust,
outside the inn they’re crowding in,
is there still room for us?
For in those dark streets shining,
is everlasting Light;
the hopes and fears of all the years
are meeting there tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary
and gathered all above,
while mortals sleep, the angels keep
their watch of wondering love.
The morning stars together
proclaim the holy birth,
and praises sing to God the King
and Peace to men on earth.

In waters and the blood of birth
the wondrous gift is given!
and God imparts to human hearts
the blessings of His heaven.
In tears of pain and tears of joy
and cries of birth is given,
the gift of God to humankind,
the promise of his heaven.

No ear may hear his coming,
through all this wide world’s din,
but where meek souls receive him, still
the dear Christ enters in.
Oh, holy child of Bethlehem
come live in us, we pray.
Cast out our sin and enter in,
be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas angels
the great glad tidings tell.
Oh, come to us, and live with us
our Lord Emmanuel!

How we Love Children

How we Love Children

How we love children…
continue to love naughty children…
… love them more… weep over alienation from them…
… scold, but still love…
remember, with sadness not blame, tantrums and bad behaviour…
… forget much or most, or remember with amusement,
for childish disobedience is part of growing.
We devote ourselves to them… weep with them…
… teach them to pick themselves up…
… stand back when they are making their own way…
… give them space to grow…
… admire their attempts even when they fail…
… see their hurt when they let you down…
… give them credit, love them even more,
when they try to be good but fail…
… and know this is just their childhood.
All their adult life will grow from this.

If love seems to fail… parent turning from child…
child from parent… the failure is in both.
Parents are also children, babes in eternity,
we have our failings and our fallings too,
and a good Parent who loves us
even more than we love our own children,
who weeps over us, with us,
gives everything, even life itself,
for us.

When we move on from this life we will not be turned away because of our childhood failings, because a good parent does not cease to be a parent when we grow up. However we tried and failed, the great Parent of us all will never fail.

All shall be well, and all shall be well,
And all manner of thing shall be well.
–                      Dame Julian of Norwich.

(Language changes, meanings change. When Dame Julian wrote these words ‘all manner of thing’ meant every possible thing. Now it has been weakened, ‘all manner of things’ is used to mean ‘lots of things’. Dame Julian’s meaning was total)

The World God Loved

A murmuration of starlings swirl against the setting sun,
a parliament of rooks vote for home or beyond:
the farther field or the evening rest.
The quiet low of cattle,
the lamb’s call, its mother’s reply,
the stilling of the wind,
the pause of lift and sway in the alder boughs,
and the stream’s flow heard clearer
against the hush of the world.

‘My peace I give you,
not as the world gives,
not as the world gives.’

Then what is this ease of sunset into twilight?

‘Hope:
hope for the night,
hope for tomorrow,
hope for my peace.’

What is this calm that stills my soul?

‘Part,
just part of me.’

‘As the flock moves against the set of sun,
As the rooks call for evening rest,
their shape is seen,
their decision made.
The cattle move to home,
the lamb to its dam.
For this I formed the world,
the universe,
you.

‘They know me, the birds and the beasts;
that gather in shifting shapes,
they know me, that go down to the sea,
that face the uncertain waves,
the herds, the flocks, the flowing deeps.
The world they know is me.

‘In the beginning,
in the empty dark,
I brooded like a mother hen
over shifting, uncertain waves,
breathing on them,
choosing the good,
the perfect conditions.

‘Now!
Waves of light,
waves of every kind,
multiplying, separating,
expanding, condensing,
mass, gravity, liquids, solids.
Clusters, galaxies,
stars, planets, moons,
the Earth,

Tides and seasons of Sun and Moon,
driving evolution;
bacteria, cells, vegetal life,
animal life, birds, mammals,

Man, you, in my image,
mothering,
fathering,
loving.

‘Oh! How I loved you;

love you still!’