First Sunday of Lent
Having Descended to the Heart
Once you have grown used to the incessant
prayer the pulse insists upon, and once
that throbbing din grows less diverting
if undiminished, you’ll surely want
to look around—which is when you’ll likely
apprehend that you can’t see a thing.
Terror sometimes sports an up side, this time
serves as tender, hauling you to port.
What’s most apparent in the dark is how
the heart’s embrace, if manifestly
intermittent, is really quite
reliable, and very nearly bides
as if another sought to join you there.
-Scott Cairns, from Philokalia
I’ve often wondered what thoughts ran through Noah’s head as he stood at the door of the ark and prepared to disembark. When he surveyed the scene, did a holy expletive escape from his lips as he took in the devastation? As he took his first steps onto the dry ground, the din of animals and family in the background, was he overcome by the deafening silence of a planet whose slate had been wiped clean? Did the loneliness and isolation terrify him? What did he think of the God whose divine power and jealous anger had caused such chaos?
Alone in the wilderness, with only wild animals for company, it strikes me that Jesus, too, knew something about deafening silence and loneliness. Mark’s sparse storytelling doesn’t give us any of the details that Matthew or Luke’s gospels offer. There is no reported conversation with his adversary. There is no transport to the Temple mount. We are left to fill in the blanks for ourselves about the battle raging in Jesus’ head during those long days and nights. Read more