Scattered thoughts in the month of the Sacred Heart.
O, to have a clean heart: a heart healed of its impurities, so that each limb sways to the good and error is turned to dancing. Because from a pure heart all things would be pure: every movement would be filled with grace, every thought would meet its mark, and words would spring to exact and accurate praise. And there would be nothing in us that did not dwell in the sight of God.
The heart is what draws us, leaping, to our end.
Gravity is the heart of water:
so that it rises, and laughs
in its return.
And yet there is of all things another heart, greater than gravity and lighter than levity, more profound than the deep which calls to deep at the sound of His name. There is another source and end of their desire, and there–at the juncture of their hunger and His–we find our vocation, Man sent out to tend the exuberant garden. For all things rise, the trees and the sun and that humongous blackbird and the grackle with eyes of the evening: they leap from Him like a fountain, and are held there in their longing–unable to return, to sing their own name back to Him. Oh, they beg for it, they beg to run to Him like water down the riverbed of our praise.
Saint Francis, pray for us.
His hunger: the hunger which called us out of nothing that we might come to Him. The Agency that draws our voices forth into the air; the summons deeper than our own creation; as though our words were water running down to God.
The love which finds darkness a reason for light; betrayal, for mercy; which returns for a spear-thrust the river of life.
Which rages to satisfy the hungry, to console the afflicted, to slake its thirst for us in ours.
Adam came from the earth, and Christ–at last–returned to it; He entered through the door of the tomb and rested in the dust from whence we come. And there was a change. That dust was the first to see the miracle, the mystery: the grave for three days astonished by the incorruptibility of His flesh. For God did not allow His Holy One to see decay. There in the earth, Christ took back the earth, and held it in hope until it would be redeemed. Till the door burst open:
and Adam came forth from the ground again.
Finally, here, at the hands of the priest, the fruit of the earth–bread, and wine, and we–return to the Heart which calls us.
It is as though a spring should chide us for forgetting our own thirst.
For His heart is like a river always giving more and more (His mercies are new)–so that we are not to hoard up our consolations like manna till morning, but to come again and again to receive Him as He comes again and again inexhaustibly to give.
All this river running down upon us begs is that we stand before it always like the jars at the wedding of Cana, that we may be filled; and that our hearts, like His, may overflow.