Thursday night I was praying.
I was very conscious of Jesus very, very gently asking me a question.
"“Why do you not receive my love with joy?"”
It was so gently asked; there was nothing but love in the question, and I knew it was being asked for me to realise what the answer was.
The answer ...
"My heart is so battered, it'’s full of holes, like a sieve,
love just leaks out,
it is only there for a while and then it's gone"
there was a follow on question
"and your soul?"
"My soul is so battered, bruised and scarred that it'’s barely recognisable as a soul"”
These were things that Jesus already knew,
but I didn't -– well I did,
but I had not put the words together,
and it was time to put them together.
Friday morning I had a meeting with a wise and Godly man.
At one point he said "you have an unusual soul"–
I smiled -– if he only knew how I see it!
He went on to say that my soul is an unusual mix of the pragmatic and the poetic.
He told me many things -– some of them will leak out of my heart in a while but for now they sit there.
In amongst all of this was a very strange reaction.
Last night checking my emails I had a bit of a song running through my head.
The only word that I could remember was Hallelujah.
And I suddenly started to cry;
I cried deep tears, tears from my soul.
Hallelujah - Praise God
it just induces tears,
deep tears that I don't have the words to explain.
Deep tears of my soul, and the reassurance that God understands.
Deep tears of my soul, pouring out in praise to my God.
3 comments:
Tears...yes. Yes. So useful, those.
Still here, Pilgrim. ((hug))
There is a wonderful song by Leonard Cohen that may have value for you. It is called "Anthem"
The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again,
I heard them say,
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
The wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again;
the dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed,
the marriage spent;
the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.
Can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned up
a thundercloud
They're going to hear from me.
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum.
Every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
Post a Comment