Near and Far

In the end, did I draw them to me?

When you gave me brothers and sisters, did I adopt them?

The thing I feel in my solitude, is it your warm breath under my skin, or is it the sedative of some devil?

So near, so far: The distance between you and God is no greater than the distance between the averted eyes of you and the person next to you.

I go to your many houses, those of stone and glass and those with no walls. To cross over -- to enter the holy: that is the beginning of worship. To go back -- to bear the holy, being holy: that is the end of worship.

Today, I am at the threshold of the sanctuary, the membrane of the living circle. I sense you are there, in the light, and I want to touch you. I want you to touch me.

There, at the threshold, I remain. I am slumbering almost below the ground in the cool darkness. I almost want not to be disturbed, ever again.

Except, someone says: Sursum corda!

If I do not enter the sanctuary, how can I go into the street?

Without accepting the dare of worship, there can be no risk in the witness.

When will I dare again?

You did not command us to make your house a hermitage. Keep us from liking our loneliness.

Teach us to love what we see.

After all, love really does come at first sight. But for many, first sight comes after ages of unseeing with opaque eyes or downturned eyes. For many more, there is never a sighting.

So near, so far: The distance between you and God is no greater than the distance between the averted eyes of you and the person next to you.

Be thou my vision, Lord, that I may say before I die that I loved somebody.