After an opening prayer, Prof. Benedicio began the discussion by saying: I think everyone, whether Muslim, Buddhist, atheist, half-Christian or Christian, has some image in their mind about what they call “God.” I’d like to share a poem by a R. C. priest, Fr. John Shea, called “God.”
You are what we have but cannot hold,
what we dwell within but cannot domesticate,
a home with unexplored rooms,
a foreign land with warmth.
God, host to the highways and byways,
exit of hope in every dead end,
we call you the father of forgiveness.
—Now I’ve heard tell of a father
whose wealth rolled down his arms
into the twenty fingers of his two sons.
One took it and ran.
One took it and stayed.
The father waited,
his arms sonless at his side,
till the last of one day
showed the shadow of the lost one
and the old arms, flung out in front,
ran upon the runaway.
And then from the house of music
a second time his arms reached out
to the one hardened on the hill of forgiveness,
the one with no party in his soul
to hold him in joy
and whisper him welcome.
You are a patriarch without ceremony,
a father of arms only
whose feasts made sons and daughters
of the hired hands
and who cuts short the complaint,
“I have slaved for you,”
with “All I have is yours.”
To call you father
is to inherit your prodigal love
and to suspect
that the last black hole of the last galaxy
is not a barren, howling tunnel
but a room with a fireplace and chair,
and the dry, full burgundy of home.
. . .And then
the tree without leaves
and the nails turned against the carpenter
and the second opening of Adam’s side.
The last image,
Strange God,
is the broken one.
Drag, then, people
the fat god of the sky
to the perpendicular arms of pain
and know
no death goes unnoticed.
Drag, then, people
the helmeted god of sharp teeth
to the man without armor
and know that love is always vulnerable.
. . . O God
as close as breath and blood
yet as far as lasting peace!
O God,
arriving at every moment
yet ever delayed!
O God,
the look of love in every face,
yet faceless yourself!
Once on a winter shore
when I turned from the sea
for no other reason
than its cold majesty
dulls desire,
and saw down the sand
one long lost from sight
but never far from soul—
in that moment
I knew you simply
as the first person to
breathe knew you
and the way the last person ever
to breathe will know you,
“O my God!”
Fr. Henry responds, Thank you so much—that moved me to tears! I can see that if people pictured and experienced a God like that, they wouldn’t be “half-Christians” (if even possible) but real Christians, willing to truly worship Him, take up their cross and follow Him, and be what they’re called to be—leaders, salt and light in a hurting world wounded by sin. Lovers, in the deepest ways, because they know Him who is Love.
Brent: Well said, Father. It reminds me of the Prayer of St. Francis, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. . .” Now please close with a prayer.
Henry: From our prayer book, “Almighty God, before whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our minds by the inspiration of thy holy spirit, that we may worthily worship thee. . .” Thank you, O Father, for your great, awesome, love, revealed in particular in giving Jesus to die for the forgiveness of sins and rise to give us victory over death and all hostile powers. Let that reality sink in, so deep in our souls, that our very thoughts, speech and actions will be diffused with the mystery of Grace, through Christ our Lord, amen.
