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Were I God I would dive into the darkest shadows of being human, into profound pain, outrageous loss, unbearable suffering, and I would swim towards Light taking with me as much of the brokenness everywhere and of all time as I could gather. Were I God I would live in despair and in hope. I would be the inspiration of a poem, the rainbow, the dew on the grass, the color of fall, the gentle breeze, the kind word, the tender touch, the laughter of children. I would abide in every flower, every seed, every cry and sigh, I would be the possibility of each new moment. I would be weakness finding strength, never lording it over others, but in every humble service, pitching my tent among the poor, preferring the outsiders. I would nestle in vulnerability: risking and giving Self. Were I God I would hide so subtly within all creation that I could never be caught. I would be so unutterable as to resist being talked about, and hate the name "God" remembering the oppression done in my name. I would exist beyond any word any symbol, any possible expression, but I would dwell in every human groan. I would avoid expected places: some pulpits, rituals, churches. I would never be snared by theology, religion or even prayer. I would exist solely to be given away, never to be comprehended or held by safe orthodoxy: far more verb than noun. I would be yearning for freedom, passion for justice, thirsting for peace, searching for truth, craving for affirmation, ardor for sharing, the making of love, and the ecstasy of surrender. I would be in every form of hurting and its transcendence. I would be gleamed in lowly favors, generosity, courage, simplicity, compassion but especially in forgiveness. I would be aborning ever new in the bruised and lonely heart. I would be found more in doubt than in certainty more in questioning than in righteousness. I would need to be intimately concealed because the human ego is so ready to use Me to elevate itself by judging others. Were I God I would enjoy leaving clues, riddles and traces everywhere, being tracked only by valiant searchers. I would let myself be glimpsed in sunrises and sunsets in the wonders of nature in human loving in quiet stillness and becoming little in EVERY human story. Christmas, 1991, Paschal Bernard Baute |