Seeing

What did you come out into the desert to see,
a reed shaken in the wind? But what did you come out to see?
I know what you saw, and I recall your reaction to what you saw.
Together we are closer to God for what we saw in all we suffered.

Dear God it does hurt so.

t dawned on me, when I pulled my cross from out from under my shirt and I realized there is no one to see it except me; the whole purpose of wearing the habit is to be SEEN.  To be seen  loving, praying and being absorbed utterly into God and His bliss. That was the whole purpose from the beginning. That things went bad from there, is an understatement, and I did not react well.

 But I understood very well, God's purposes in the matter. Those whom I approached were charged by the Church with shepherding His flock, not manipulating and maneuvering people into suffering and humiliation, but that was their will, and they pressed their advantage; I could do nothing but kneel before St. Therese's statue in the dark cathedral, and beg for peace and a little consolation to dull the pain.

They got what they wanted. What happened to them subsequently I will never know. But it hurt; whether it hurt badly enough to constitute reparation of sins, I don't know. My place is more or less quiet and peacful, and there is little else to do but enter into the suffering and submit to God. I have been submitting now for over ten years. Whatever they were afraid of, by now has dwindled away. I was an amusing anecdote.

I got s place to live, auiet in which to be before God, and occasionally, the bliss of being absorbed into Him when I wasn't suspecting it. What they got, I don't really know, but from their remarks, I can only gather that they did not have peace in which to be enclosed and enraptured, and their use of drugs to combat their illness, or their use of alcohol, pretty much states the obvious.

Things should not forever be being dragged up to humiliate me over and over again, but since it is so searingly successful to torment me can only mean it was significant to God Himself. But atonement implies a certain participation, and that makes me happy; that I sensed the urge to approach to the Cross over and over again, asking for the brandedness implied can only speak to His willingness to enter with me. That I hurt, was simple enough, but that I hurt for a decent purpose drew me up into bliss before hIm, and likely always will.

How, I am not certain, but I will be seen. Many times, wearing street clothes only, people have approached me as if I were a religious, even with my cross tucked safely out of sight. The cross is not a source of shame to anyone who loves and realizes that the essence of love is a pain that can't be borne, and the bearing of which is an unbearable weight of blessedness.

My eyes have looked upon God, and He has not allowed me to be killed. For a long time after I returned to the States from 'Nam, I bore a burden for all who were wounded and killed in that country. That I am often reminded over and over again of scenes from the place, tells me He is not finished with me yet, and with all I undertook while I was there. Now I am free. My continuing participation in the cross is a consequence of love; a pure and purging love that brings freedom to all those for whom I bear it. I was not nailed to the cross to the extent that my hands and feet and side or any other part of me exuded a single drop of blood. All that shedding of blood is unseen, and unseeable. For my part, I continue to hope I may stand beside Him on the last day without taint of any sin, and able to see His Face and embrace Him without obstacle.