From the collection Passionate Theology, 1984
What believer, faithful to his vocation as a lover, does not weep a bit each day in heart, or feel the stab of at least a splinter of the Cross over the death brought into the world, who does not die a bit each day at tragic news or broken twigs, against the quiet moan of creation in travail?
My nephew weeps for his happy little Christmas tree after New Years Day when it must be dismantled and thrown out back in the woods to be forgotten. This innocent little tree which brought such joy and smiles, prettiness and wonder to the home and family—now discarded... "Poor little tree..." he cries...
A beautiful spring day—somehow we are at a loss to know how to really experience it, enter into it, until it is over and we feel it is lost. "But then it was a little chilly, or too hot." We always complain. We sit on the grass, we sit on a chair, and cannot get comfortable. A beautiful day in fallen nature created to be good, but now with subtle stain—appealing, enticing—a beautiful aroma whets our appetite yet it cannot be consumed—as though we were lacking the appropriate organ with which to taste and chew and swallow it.
The beauty of a young woman, you want to go swimming in her eyes, run barefoot through her smile, her slim waist seems delicately crafted for your hands. The uncanny magnetic “homeness” of her breasts calls to something so helpless and bereft within us—but we are blocked from dissolving into that one big lonely tear that we and she both are, and being absorbed spongelike into each other. Remember, we are naked and ashamed. We long to smile without doubt, kiss without suspicion. We want to give and be received without fear of being taken.
None of our keys quite fit the lock, we can reach but not hold. The serpent was correct, we do have knowledge of good and evil. But the God who is Creator and not creature can turn all things to good. Easter Is. Alleluia. We may not be innocent but we are justified. There is a place, in Him, where our eyes See, and our kisses Kiss. Alleluia. Come Lord Jesus.
© 1984, 2008, 2020 By John Mallon