This morning I went halfway up the mountain to pray - there is a spot halfway up I like and I was not going to make it all the way up and all the way back before breakfast. So halfway was good enough - with a big overhanging rock and a babbling stream - I was at Shrine Mont in case you wondered.
Jesus did the same in the Gospel - he went up a mountain to pray - it does not say whether he was worried about getting back for dinner but in any case the disciples followed him with business.
The thing that struck me sitting on this Virginia hillside was the sameness of it - things have been almost the same in that place for years and years. Almost because feet have worn paths and hands have snapped off twigs and branched but the elements of nature have been there and will, hopefully, continue to be there.
In the words of the office, those same words, there was God. Not in a tiresome repetitive way but in a hallowed and hallowing way. By washing through those words in a place which seemed to understand a little bit of eternity I remembered all the voices who had said them - all the prayers which had been prayed in them and the God which had brought that to be.
Babbling brook of the Almighty
Open thou our lips
Rustling leaves of the Spirit
Shew forth with me thy praise
Towering fortress of rock
Make speed to save us
Glory be to our gentle and eternal God
Now and for ever. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment