A view from the Supporters Section after a late first-half equalizer this weekend. An early birthday + father’s day gift of FC Dallas season tickets being put to good use! FCD went on to beat LA Galaxy 3-1.
Lessons from Nicodemus this Lent: The problem with humanity is not a lack of information. You and I are not one New York Times opinion piece away from a changed life. Our first, second, and final step towards abundant life is to recognize, embrace, and (eventually) enjoy our dependence on God.
Lent as an Exercise in Dependence
Becoming more human in an age of information
In 1948, Claude Shannon published a paper on the Theory of Information and Communication that set the stage for an understanding of Information as data - bits of sound that are capable of being transmitted in an orderly fashion across great distances.
Eventually this work led to the creation of what we call the internet and the dawning of the Information Age.
Today, we know more than we ever have, and we can share that knowledge with just about anybody anywhere at any time.
But the Information Age comes with some unintended consequences.
We used to ask our dad, or our neighbor, or a stranger how to change a tire. Now we ask a machine.
If we had a story to tell or an opinion to share, we used to do this around a table or while working side-by-side or at the weekly market. Now we read—or at least start to read—posts and articles written by strangers who we will never have the chance to personally engage.
And all of this is heralded as good news.
Our age is built around the premise that information will save you.
Do you have an unusual or embarrassing rash developing? Need to know what sporty business chic attire means for your nephew’s wedding?
Ask Google.
Life in the Information Age is convenient. We are more informed now than we ever have been, but there is a catch.
Vivek Murthy is the current surgeon general of the United States. In 2017, towards the end of his previous term, he wrote this:
During my years spent caring for patients, the most common pathology I saw was not heart disease or diabetes. It was loneliness.
Andy Crouch once said that the Information Age is a great place to gain information and power, but is not a great place to be a human person.
This is, in one sense, a progression of history: the obsession with information over wisdom in the 20th century led to a modern, lonely society. But it is actually an ancient problem—perhaps the most ancient of problems.
In Genesis we are told that Adam and Eve went from walking and talking with God in the cool of the day to being banished from his presence. This disconnect affected their relationship with God, to be sure, but also their relationship with one another. After leaving the Garden, humanity began the long journey of being alone together.
All of this, because Adam and Eve wanted a shortcut to wisdom.
Wisdom was meant to be slowly gleaned through a relationship with God, not grasped in an instant.
But when our First Parents took and ate of the fruit of that tree, it represented an attempt to shortcut this process. It was a desire for information instead of relationship.
Satan said to Eve, ‘For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil’
After they ate, notice their first reaction:
They covered their most intimate parts from each other, and then they hid from God.
The human pursuit of information and power over relationship began in the Garden of Eden. And it has continued—with destructive results—ever since.
Fast forward from Genesis 3 to John 3—to a late night conversation between Nicodemus and Jesus. A different context, a mostly different cast of characters, but the same old story.
Nicodemus is a fascinating character throughout the Gospel of John. He is a Pharisee—a member of the Jewish sect that was convinced that God would send his kingdom once his people got their act together and started following the Law. The whole Law.
And in order for that to happen, God’s people needed to know how to read the Law, and properly interpret the Law, and properly follow the proper interpretation of the Law.
As you can imagine, to pull this off would require a lot of teachers teaching a lot of students a lot of information. There were few communities better at transmitting information in the ancient world than the Pharisees.
We don’t know if Nicodemus was sent by the Pharisees or if he was just curious, but we do know this: he snuck out in the middle of the night to ask Jesus a question.
Nicodemus was seeking information.
Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do, unless God is with him.
I would like for you to teach me something, Jesus. Do you have any nuggets of wisdom for me? Any new teaching that I can add to my repertoire? Something I can share with my friends at a dinner party to sound like an intellectual?
Sure, said Jesus, here you go: If you want to live forever, you need to experience birth again.
It is a jarring response, isn’t it?
But Jesus isn’t finished. When Nicodemus justifiably expresses confusion over this saying, Jesus rebukes him:
Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand this?
In other words: how is it that you spend your days reading and meditating on the Scriptures, and yet still think that the problem with humanity is a lack of information?
Nicodemus came to Jesus seeking new information; what he needed was new birth.
Birth is one of several running images throughout the Scriptures. There is something about birth that captures the core of where a redeemed person stands in relation to God.
In other words, there are several things that are true about physical birth that ring even more deeply true about spiritual birth.
To be born is to utterly depend upon another. This is obvious on one level: an infant cannot feed themselves or move on their own. Parents of newborns can attest that they can hardly even sleep without being cared for by someone other than themselves.
This is true of many creatures, but it is most true of humans.
We are born long before we are capable of sustaining ourselves. Other mammals are born with far more developed brains than we are. (Parents around the world can attest to this…)
A human fetus would need to remain in the womb for 18 to 21 months in order to match the neurological and cognitive development stage of a newborn chimpanzee.
Simply put: Human Beings were created to be relationally dependent.
We grow out of some of this dependence in some truly important ways, but by and large humans only flourish when we share some level of dependence on another: a neighbor, a roommate, a friend, a spouse, a child, a parent, and ultimately, God.
Embracing this dependence on God is the crucial first step on the journey that is the Christian life.
Nicodemus’ last words to Jesus in this encounter were simply, “How can this be?”
We don’t know if Nicodemus was changed that night. But John does leave us some clues. Nicodemus appears two more times in his Gospel.
The next Nicodemus sighting comes when Pharisees are arguing with the Temple Police about arresting Jesus. Nicodemus speaks up, suggesting that they not rush to judgment on Jesus and his teaching.
John leaves us with the impression that perhaps Nicodemus has been intrigued by what Jesus said to him.
But the final sighting of Nicodemus in the Gospel of John is perhaps the most convincing. We encounter it each year on Good Friday—at the very end of Holy Week.
After Jesus is crucified, John tells us that Nicodemus
who had at first come to Jesus by night, went to Jesus’ tomb, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. He took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths.
The man to whom Jesus said You must be born again was now wrapping our Lord in burial clothes adorned with spices.
I think it is safe to say that Nicodemus had experienced new birth.
The problem with humanity is not a lack of information. You and I are not one New York Times opinion piece away from a changed life.
Our first, second, and final step towards eternal life is to recognize, and then embrace, and then eventually enjoy our dependence on God.
Perhaps more so that any other Liturgical season, Lent can help move us along the path towards increased dependence.
The failures we experience throughout Lent are part of the gift of Lent.
When you find your fasting difficult to maintain, or when you drop a practice that you meant to maintain throughout the season, allow these shortcomings to remind you of your utter dependence on God.
The eve of Ash Wednesday 2023 is a good time to remember that fasting is an exercise that leads to strength, not weakness.
Lent: Effort and Grace in Action
One of my favorite bits of dialogue in Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring presents us with an age-old debate about spiritual disciplines in general, and the Christian season of Lent in particular.
Before embarking on their Journey to Mordor, Elrond—the Lord of Rivendale—shares a final message with the Company that is to join Frodo on his quest.
Frodo himself is bound to complete the journey, while the members of the Company are “free companions” that may “come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows.” Gimli, the renowned Dwarf warrior, gives a response that begins the dialogue in question.
‘Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,’ said Gimli.
‘Maybe,’ said Elrond, ‘but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.’
‘Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,’ said Gimli.
‘Or break it,’ said Elrond.
Gimli argues that a vow made on the front end of a journey may serve as a sustaining force for when difficulty is faced. Elrond counters that, at times, the weight of such a vow might actually break one’s will along the way. Both positions are worthy of considering further, but what light can this conversation shed on the ancient Christian practice of Lent?
The Church Calendar has historically served as a way to center our lives around the life of Christ, and the season of Lent serves (1) as an opportunity to re-live Jesus’ forty days of fasting in the wilderness and (2) as a period of preparation for our celebration of the Crucifixion and Resurrection. It has traditionally been celebrated as a season for fasting, the adoption of a new spiritual practice, and giving of time and money to the poor. These practices are not particular to Lent, but are in fact some of the most central practices of the Christian faith, commanded repeatedly throughout the New Testament (see Matthew 6:1-18). In this sense, Lent is a season that simply asks Christians to act as Christians.
So how then should we approach Lent? With Gimli’s determination and rigidity, or with Elrond’s patience and grace?
The Church’s answer to this questions, as is so often the case, is “yes” to both.
Be like Gimli as you fight against sin in your own life and injustice in the world. Use this period of 40 days to re-center your spiritual life. Don’t allow our various cultural calendars dictate your devotion to Christ. Put forth effort to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12). On Ash Wednesday, after all, the Church is called to “the observance of a Holy Lent.”
But also remember that we are often more like the first Adam, who failed his temptation in the garden, than we are like the second Adam, who triumphed over temptation in the wilderness.
Be like Elrond as you let your failure during this season serve as another reminder of your need for a savior. Don’t let your adoption of new disciplines “puff up” your ego, but instead recognize them for what they are: gifts from God given to a sinner who does not deserve them.
May this Lenten season be for us one more way “that we may remember that it is only by God’s gracious gift that we are given everlasting life.” (BCP, 265)
The final chapters of Esther provide us with a reminder of why we have a liturgical calendar in the first place, and a framework for approaching these seasons of subsequent fasting and feasting.
Read more from my latest essay for Covenant.
A rediscovery of Moral Beauty?
Paul Vitz once said that in our age we will recover—or rather rediscover—many traditional beliefs and practices, and that we will do so primarily through science and the intellect.
Perhaps this is in that vein?
Dacher Keltner’s (UC Berkeley) forthcoming book Awe describes a study that sought to understand various ways people arrive at an experience of “being in the presence of something vast and mysterious that transcends your current understanding of the world.”
The participants were from 26 countries, including adherents to all major religions, as well as denizens of more secular cultures (e.g., Holland). Our participants varied in terms of their wealth and education. They lived within democratic and authoritarian political systems. They held egalitarian and patriarchal views of gender. They ranged in their cultural values from the more collectivist (e.g., China, Mexico) to the more individualistic (e.g., the United States).
Speakers of 20 languages at UC Berkeley translated the 2,600 narratives they produced. We were surprised to learn that these rich narratives from around the world could be classified into a taxonomy of awe, the eight wonders of life, from collective rituals to sudden intellectual epiphanies.
What most commonly led people to feel awe? Nature? Spiritual practice? Listening to music? In fact, it was other people’s courage, kindness, strength, or overcoming—actions of strangers, roommates, teachers, colleagues at work, people in the news, characters on podcasts, and our neighbors and family members.
Around the world, we are most likely to feel awe when moved by moral beauty: exceptional virtue, character, and ability, marked by a purity and goodness of intention and action
But the Turing test cuts both ways. You can’t tell if a machine has gotten smarter or if you’ve just lowered your own standards of intelligence to such a degree that the machine seems smart. If you can have a conversation with a simulated person presented by an AI program, can you tell how far you’ve let your sense of personhood degrade in order to make the illusion work for you?
Jaron Lanier, in a book published in 2011.
English soccer is worth watching in its own right, but it does not hurt that its commentators have quite the way with words.
Case in point: Peter Drury’s comments following Harry Kane’s 267th goal for Tottenham, surpassing the record previously held by Jimmy Greaves.
He sits on Tottenham’s loftiest perch, beyond even the great Greaves. Spurs’ most lavish scorer of all time. He has dared. And he has done.
Audeat est facere, indeed.
This must be the New Math everyone is talking about?
ChatGPT and tools like it are not the end of the world, but they do highlight a worrying trend: we have an increased appetite for seeking information over wisdom. In my opinion, the recovery of a better way begins with a rediscovery of the beauty of the Incarnation itself.
Rest in Peace, Benedict XVI
Quite soon, I shall find myself before the final judge of my life. Even though, as I look back on my long life, I can have great reason for fear and trembling, I am nonetheless of good cheer, for I trust firmly that the Lord is not only the just judge, but also the friend and brother who himself has already suffered for my shortcomings, and is thus also my advocate, my ‘Paraclete.’ In light of the hour of judgment, the grace of being a Christian becomes all the more clear to me. It grants me knowledge, and indeed friendship, with the judge of my life, and thus allows me to pass confidently through the dark door of death.
May you experience fear, trembling, and good cheer, Joseph of Rome.
Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.
Merry Christmas from the Jordan family. (Shown here in both our forced and natural poses. I will let you determine which is which for each of us…)
O Emmanuel
Come, O God with us
Friends,
The final O Antiphon of Advent is below—in its Latin and English forms. Subscribers can keep reading below the image for a short reflection and another response poem by the brilliant Fr. Malcolm Guite.
I hope these brief moments of reading and reflection have helped you capture the heart of Advent in this busy final week before Christmas.
O Emmanuel
Latin Text Veni, veni Emmanuel, Captivum solve Israel, Qui gemit in exilio Privatus Dei Filio.O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel, That mourns in lonely exile here, Until the Son of God appear.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
Tomorrow, I will come.
In this final O Antiphon response, Malcolm Guite looks back at the previous six titles for Christ, but he also looks forward, “… beyond Christmas, to the new birth for humanity and for the whole cosmos, which is promised in the birth of God in our midst.”
As a special treat this Christmas Eve, click here to listen to Malcolm read his poem.
O Emmanuel O come, O come, and be our God-with-us O long-sought With-ness for a world without, O secret seed, O hidden spring of light. Come to us Wisdom, come unspoken Name Come Root, and Key, and King, and holy Flame, O quickened little wick so tightly curled, Be folded with us into time and place, Unfold for us the mystery of grace And make a womb of all this wounded world. O heart of heaven beating in the earth, O tiny hope within our hopelessness Come to be born, to bear us to our birth, To touch a dying world with new-made hands And make these rags of time our swaddling bands.
O Rex Gentium
Come, O King of Nations
Friends,
Today’s O Antiphon is below—in its Latin, English, and adapted forms. Subscribers can keep reading below the image for a short reflection and another response poem by the brilliant Fr. Malcolm Guite. I hope these brief moments of reading and reflection help you capture the heart of Advent in this busy final week before Christmas.
O Rex Gentium
Latin Text O rex gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum, (veni, et) salva hominem quem de limo formastiEnglish Translation O King of the nations, and their desire, the cornerstone making both one: Come and save the human race, which you fashioned from clay.
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation O come, Desire of nations, bind In one the hearts of all mankind; Bid Thou our sad divisions cease, And be Thyself our King of Peace.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
The original Latin version of this O Antiphon draws our focus to the creative nature of the King of Nations. (This is, unfortunately, lost in the hymn adaptation.) Yes, Jesus is the King of all, but he is also the one who formed our very race from clay.
And—as is entirely appropriate on this penultimate day of Advent—Guite draws us to the humility of the King taking on the form of clay in his Incarnation, before reminding us that it is Jesus’ first and second Advents that prepare us for his final Advent.
His work of shaping us is not yet complete.
O Rex Gentium / O King of NationsO King of our desire whom we despise, King of the nations never on the throne, Unfound foundation, cast-off cornerstone, Rejected joiner, making many one, You have no form or beauty for our eyes, A King who comes to give away his crown, A King within our rags of flesh and bone. We pierce the flesh that pierces our disguise, For we ourselves are found in you alone. Come to us now and find in us your throne, O King within the child within the clay, O hidden King who shapes us in the play Of all creation. Shape us for the day Your coming Kingdom comes into its own.
O Oriens
Come, O Dayspring
Friends,
Today’s O Antiphon is below—in its Latin, English, and adapted forms. Subscribers can keep reading below the image for a short reflection and another response poem by the brilliant Fr. Malcolm Guite. I hope these brief moments of reading and reflection help you capture the heart of Advent in this busy final week before Christmas.
O Oriens
Latin Text O Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol justitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortisEnglish Translation O Dayspring, splendour of light eternal and sun of righteousness: Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation O come, O Bright and Morning Star, and bring us comfort from afar! Dispel the shadows of the night and turn our darkness into light.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
The "Bright and Morning star" or "Dayspring" refer to the first ray of light appearing when the darkness of night is pierced by the sunrise. The beauty of the first trace of the sunrise has captured the attention of poets for millennia, from the prophet Malachi's "sun of righteousness" to Francis Scott Key's "by the dawn's early light."
It is no accident that the Church prays O come O Bright and Morning Star on December 21st. This is the winter solstice; the day that contains the shortest period of daylight and the longest night of the year. And on this winter solstice, Fr. Guite's poem helps us remember that Jesus is our Bright and Morning Star.
O Oriens / O Dayspring First light and then first lines along the east To touch and brush a sheen of light on water As though behind the sky itself they tracedThe shift and shimmer of another river Flowing unbidden from its hidden source; The Day-Spring, the eternal Prima Vera.
Blake saw it too. Dante and Beatrice Are bathing in it now, away upstream… So every trace of light begins a grace
In me, a beckoning. The smallest gleam Is somehow a beginning and a calling; “Sleeper awake, the darkness was a dream
For you will see the Dayspring at your waking, Beyond your long last line the dawn is breaking”.
O Clavis David
Come, O Key of David
Friends,
Today’s O Antiphon is below—in its Latin, English, and adapted forms. Subscribers can keep reading below the image for a short reflection and another response poem by the brilliant Fr. Malcolm Guite. I hope these brief moments of reading and reflection help you capture the heart of Advent in this busy final week before Christmas.
Latin Text O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel; qui aperis, et nemo claudit; claudis, et nemo aperit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis. English Translation O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel; you open and no one can shut; you shut and no one can open: Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house, those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation O come, O Key of David, come and open wide our heavenly home. Make safe for us the heavenward road and bar the way to death's abode.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
The ancient O Clavis David verse describes Jesus as the Key that locks and unlocks life's ultimate mysteries; opening to us the way of life, while closing to us the way of death.
In today's poem by Fr. Guite, that same theme is also highlighted. But Guite also helpfully reminds us that there is only one key for our lock. Without that specific key, we have no hope.
We know our problem, and want a solution. And so we cry out for the advent of our Key.
O Clavis / O Key Even in the darkness where I sit And huddle in the midst of misery I can remember freedom, but forget That every lock must answer to a key,That each dark clasp, sharp and intricate, Must find a counter-clasp to meet its guard, Particular, exact and intimate, The clutch and catch that meshes with its ward.
I cry out for the key I threw away That turned and over turned with certain touch And with the lovely lifting of a latch Opened my darkness to the light of day. O come again, come quickly, set me free Cut to the quick to fit, the master key.
O Radix Jesse
Come, O Root of Jesse
Friends,
Today’s O Antiphon is below—in its Latin, English, and adapted forms. Subscribers can keep reading below the image for a short reflection and another response poem by the brilliant Fr. Malcolm Guite. I hope these brief moments of reading and reflection help you capture the heart of Advent in this busy final week before Christmas.
O Radix Jesse
Latin Text O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem Gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.English Translation O Root of Jesse, standing as a sign among the peoples; before you kings will shut their mouths, to you the nations will make their prayer: Come and deliver us, and delay no longer
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation O come, O Branch of Jesse’s stem, unto your own and rescue them! From depths of hell your people save, and give them victory o’er the grave.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
Though it reads as a response to the virtual world we have all increasingly lived in to various degrees since March 2020, today's poem by Fr. Guite was written well before the pandemic. It draws to mind our rootedness in salvation history, and presents Jesus to us as a return to the way we were created to live.
O Radix / O Root All of us sprung from one deep-hidden seed, Rose from a root invisible to all.We knew the virtues once of every weed, But, severed from the roots of ritual, We surf the surface of a wide-screen world And find no virtue in the virtual.
We shrivel on the edges of a wood Whose heart we once inhabited in love, Now we have need of you, forgotten Root The stock and stem of every living thing Whom once we worshiped in the sacred grove, For now is winter, now is withering Unless we let you root us deep within, Under the ground of being, graft us in.
O Adonai
Come, O Lord
Friends,
Today’s O Antiphon is below—in its Latin, English, and adapted forms. Subscribers can keep reading below the image for a short reflection and another response poem by the brilliant Fr. Malcolm Guite. I hope these brief moments of reading and reflection help you capture the heart of Advent in this busy final week before Christmas.
O Adonai
Latin Text O Adonai, et Dux domus Israel, qui Moysi in igne flammae rubi apparuisti, et ei in Sina legem dedisti: veni ad redimendum nos in brachio extentoEnglish Translation O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush and gave him the law on Sinai: Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation O come, O come, Great Lord of might, who to your tribes on Sinai’s height in ancient times did give the law in cloud and majesty and awe.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
Today's poem by Fr. Malcolm Guite plays on the most important name God gives himself throughout the Scriptures: Yahweh, "I Am." The four letters YHWH—referred to as the Tetragramaton—spell out the Divine Name of God.
This name is considered so sacred that both ancient and modern Hebrews have refused to write or speak it aloud. In its place, scattered all throughout the Old Testament, is the word Adonai, most often translated as "Lord."*
This poem captures the reality that the God whose name is so Holy it cannot even be said aloud has met us face to face in the form of a child.
O Adonai / O Lord Unsayable, you chose to speak one tongue, Unseeable, you gave yourself away, The Adonai, the Tetragramaton Grew by a wayside in the light of day.O you who dared to be a tribal God, To own a language, people and a place, Who chose to be exploited and betrayed, If so you might be met with face to face, Come to us here, who would not find you there, Who chose to know the skin and not the pith, Who heard no more than thunder in the air, Who marked the mere events and not the myth. Touch the bare branches of our unbelief And blaze again like fire in every leaf.
O Sapientia
Come, O Wisdom
Christians throughout the ages have spent the final week of Advent singing, praying, and reflecting upon the seven great O Antiphons. These ancient verses have been captured in the lyrics of the great hymn O Come, O Come Emmanuel, but existed far before the hymn itself.
These O Antiphons describe to us more fully who it is that we anticipate during Advent.
Yes, “God with Us” is coming afresh on Christmas this year; but Jesus is always far more than we imagine him to be. Each of the seven O Antiphons capture just a bit more of who Jesus was and is, and what he offers to bring when he comes to us.
December 18: O Sapientia (Wisdom)
December 19: O Adonai (Lord)
December 20: O Radix Jesse (Root of Jesse)
December 21: O Clavis David (Key of David)
December 22: O Oriens (Dayspring)
December 23: O Rex Gentium (King of the Nations)
December 24: O Emmanuel (With Us is God)
But here is where it gets fascinating.
These seven antiphons, when reading backwards from Christmas Eve, form an accrostic: ero cras, which is latin for "Tomorrow, I will come."
So today we begin this seven day journey with our first Antiphon: O Sapientia. Below is the text of the ancient verse, the text of the modern hymn, and a poetic response to this verse by Malcolm Guite.
O Sapientia
Latin Text
O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti,
attingens a fine usque ad finem,
fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia:
veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.
English Translation
O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other mightily,
and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel Adaptation
O come, O Wisdom from on high,
who ordered all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show
and teach us in its ways to go.
A Poetic Response, by Fr. Malcolm Guite
I cannot think unless I have been thought,
Nor can I speak unless I have been spoken.
I cannot teach except as I am taught,
Or break the bread except as I am broken.
O Mind behind the mind through which I seek,
O Light within the light by which I see,
O Word beneath the words with which I speak,
O founding, unfound Wisdom, finding me,
O sounding Song whose depth is sounding me,
O Memory of time, reminding me,
My Ground of Being, always grounding me,
My Maker’s Bounding Line, defining me,
Come, hidden Wisdom, come with all you bring,
Come to me now, disguised as everything.