I was passionate,
filled with longing,
far and wide.
But the day
that the Truthful One
I was at home.
(a 14th century Kashmiri, translated by Jane Hirshfield)
‘How can this be?’
If an Archangel appears in my living room speaking of me as the fulfilment of an Old Testament prophecy, this is probably just one of the questions I would be asking. Yet, depending on what sort of mood I was in, the tone of voice with which I set about questioning an angel would vary considerably.
I might be scoffing or scornful, angry at a ridiculous suggestion.
I might be forceful and matter of fact, already jumping ahead to the consequences.
I might be sad, grieving my barrenness, resignedly stating the obvious.
I might be ill, with barely enough energy to whisper my inability to imagine a future so different from my current experience.
I might be depressed, unable to lift my head from its grey fog, the angel’s presence barely impacting on me, able to ask a question only with disinterest.
I might just feel unready, so lacking in self-confidence, that fear and anxiety makes my voice shake, or disappear entirely.
Or, the messenger of Light might arrive at the most unlikely of moments, a moment when I am at peace, bringing to the forefront of my mind all the ways God is being present in my day.
The angel’s words might speak into a sudden silence within, each word dropping with a sense of rightness.
I might actually be alert enough to listen intently to the amazing prophecy, and immediately respond with an inner leap of excitement, with curiosity colouring my voice.
My eyes might still ask of my mind, ‘what is it I am seeing?’.
Yet my heart might respond with wondrous acceptance, waiting to see who God wanted me to become.
”If we meet life with wonder, it’s always new, always fresh. We don’t need experiences – just encounters.”
Sister Maggie Ross
Light broke in. iPhone photo.