empty tomb

this morning's prayer speaks this to me:

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go and anoint him. Very early when the sun had risen, on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb. (mark 16:1-2)

that it is here astounds me. considering the poem i just finished. these intimate communiques from God blow my mind. do you find your path studded with the Lord's love letters as i do? i hope so. He is no preferer of persons, so He has left these words for you, it is then a matter of discerning them.

finishing up life of the beloved this morning, i came across a passage where henri tells me joy and suffering are synonymous. this has been my experience, too. when i can embrace the suffering of God it results in joy. and sometimes the joy of God comes shrouded in suffering. this thought blesses me immeasurably.

i have long thought the use of the term passion to mean suffering, as in the passion of the Christ. or Jesus' passion. to be more than mere coincidence.

passion as suffering as joy. it seems with our modern understanding of passion, that delicious torment, that utter vulnerability and openness between people is both suffering and joy. passion is the right word.


Nouwen says,

God is a Lover.

He wants only our love in return. and Donne's poem, ravish me three person'd God comes to mind.

we have such limited perception of love, being earthbound. so much of it seems to be tangled up with intimacies of body. but i've been wondering about the higher kind of love. we settle for the physicality of love, but the spirituality of love is beyond description. at least i've not found it yet described.

that i endeavor to do so seems to me to be the next thing on my plate. and that is both a frightening and exciting prospect.

i've always been a writer who goes into those scary places. even when writing about innocuous topics. one editor told me once,

there is a cutting edge and a bleeding edge.

for me, many times, i find myself on the bleeding edge. but this is not something i intend or fabricate. it just is. it speaks to my lack of human sterility, my peculiar gifting i guess you could call it. that it involves blood, so fully, so messily, is something i've come to accept. yes, i am a battlefield surgeon.

perhaps i'll find some delicate way to convey what i am about to explore. likely not. but then, maybe by now i've earned your trust and you'll lend me your ear and explore the mystery with me.

perhaps not.