WARNING!

Reading this blog has made people want to kill themselves, so if you are easily depressed, perhaps you should find something more uplifting to do, like watch a Holocaust documentary or read a Cormac McCarthy novel.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

22 Aug 1:45 PM

The path is marked by those who have gone before. They’ve left behind remembrances – words to inspire, artifacts to catch one’s eye. Nothing points to them – we discover them on the periphery as we take in nature around us. A crèche set stands in a miniature cave in the side of the hill, waiting for tiny shepherds to arrive. A plaque announces this tree split once upon a time, only to realize its mistake and grow back into one. A glittering house sways peacefully above a painted stone proclaiming tranquility. It’s not why I came to the woods, but I’m thankful for their presence.


May we always remember that the church exists
To lead men to Christ in many and varied ways
But it is always the same Christ.

Dedication Stone, Garden of Gethsemani

All He asked was to watch and pray while He went on ahead to pour His heart out to the Father, to beg this cup be taken from Him, to find some other way, some other path. That was His will – but it was not the Father’s. How this moment must have prepared Him for the hours ahead – the betrayal, the agony, the abandonment.

What does Christ ask of me? Does he ask knowing I will fail? Did He know the disciples would fall asleep? He knew Judas was coming. But maybe He hoped for better from these three, those closest to him.

I do not doubt they tried. But the hour was late and they had shared a large supper. The spirit, the flesh and all that. And I know I would have joined them, leaning together, my mind and body overcome. And how sad I would have felt, knowing I’d let my Teacher down. Not once, but three times.

Forgive me for not being there for You, for letting my weakness keep me from watching and praying.

Help me remember your loneliness in the midst of mine own. Æ

Let me then withdraw all my love from scattered, vain things – the desire to be read and praised as a writer, to be a successful teacher praised by my students, or to live at ease in some beautiful place – and let me place everything in thee where it will take root and live instead of being spent in barrenness. T.M.

silence seeps into
our chaotic lives filling
Love’s empty spaces

come wait here to hear
the silence whispering hope
to listening hearts

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