BEHOLD, THE GRAVE OF A WICKED MAN
Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.
“No flowers for him,” he said.
The maid wept:
“Ah, I loved him.”
But the spirit, grim and frowning:
“No flowers for him.”
Now, this is it —
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?
-Stephen Crane
“The world thinks that when someone becomes a monk in a monastery, he leaves society and becomes wild. They say this because they are unaware that monks are the most sociable of human beings. You should know that no one can become a monk if he is not sociable, that is, if he cannot communicate and deal openly and directly with all the difficulties encountered in a life shared with others. If a man has had difficulties in marrying or establishing a family, chances are he won’t be a good monk. He must feel secure in his life. Monasteries are not places of refuge. Consequently, a monk is someone who may have formerly attained success in such relationships, and loved them, too, and thus he doesn’t reject them, he doesn’t condemn them, he doesn’t despise them, but rather prefers something superior for himself.”
-Elder Aimilianos of Simonopetra, in The Church at Prayer: The Mystical Liturgy of the Heart
WHAT GOES ON
After the affair and the moving out,
after the destructive revivifying passion,
we watched her life quiet
into a new one, her lover more and more
on its periphery. She spent many nights
alone, happy for the narcosis
of the television. When she got cancer
she kept it to herself until she couldn’t
keep it from anyone. The chemo debilitated
and saved her, and one day
her husband asked her to come back —
his wife, who after all had only fallen
in love as anyone might
who hadn’t been in love in a while —
and he held her, so different now,
so thin, her hair just partially
grown back. He held her like a new woman
and what she felt
felt almost as good as love had,
and each of them called it love
because precision didn’t matter anymore.
And we who’d been part of it,
often rejoicing with one
and consoling the other,
we who had seen her truly alive
and then merely alive,
what could we do but revise
our phone book, our hearts,
offer a little toast to what goes on.
-Stephen Dunn
Last week was my granddaughter’s wedding, and a glorious event it was. Christ was honored and thanked and adored. Two families were joined, and I was happy to be there as one of the several grandmas (there were grandpas as well) whose grandchildren were pledging their lives to one another.
I flew to Wisconsin a couple of days before the celebration, and was mostly at my daughter Pearl’s place, not far from Milwaukee and Lake Michigan. My great-granddaughter Lora was in town with her family for nearly as long as I, which was sweet. All of Maggie’s brothers and their wives were present, and I was in awe of how everyone has grown up, and how God has poured His Life out on us. He is the Love Who is sustaining us through our various heartaches and trials, so that we can have joy in the midst of them, and rejoice with Maggie and her husband (I forgot to pick a nickname for him, but I will work on that soon.)
The venue was a farm, with a big house where all the wedding party could prepare, for the ceremony and reception that were outdoors on wide lawns, with apple trees all around. We were under the sun for the ceremony, and under awnings for a meal and dancing. The weather was warm and humid.
Getting ready took a long time! I hung around the spaces where the bride and bridesmaids were getting their hair and dresses and everything the way they liked, and was able to be of help once or twice with a safety pin or an opinion. The host of the venue contributed by being the cobbler for the girls.
Because Maggie is the first (and only) daughter of my own first daughter, feelings and memories of Pearl’s wedding almost thirty years ago filled my mind throughout the evening. After dusk, while some people were dancing, and the bride played chase with the flower girl on the green lawn, a gibbous moon rose above the horizon, and continued to rise and brighten the landscape for the rest of the night. For hours dry lightning flashed in the clouds above, while we listened to heartwarming speeches, such as by the bride and groom about their praiseworthy parents ❤ Everyone was in love with love, and Love.
Congratulations to the newly married, blessed by God.
Gladsome Lights 