Be One

What you believe I shall believe
With the man in the wind and the west moon
and no one shall prevent it.
I shall sing to the stars and they to me
in a maelstrom of Love's bright shining.
I shall lose myself and find myself
among others clothed in the sun
and the moon no more my master!
I breathe and I live in Love
piercing the heart and marrow.
I shall know my God, and He me
and you and I be one.

-HolyFool

Together

I am yours and You are mine
no one can prevent our union
streams and rivers flow to You
in excess of adoration.
I love You with both heart and head
though in the past they've differed
in You my diverse paths are one
and I am me in You.
O wonderful Love, nothing is greater
to hear Your voice is enough
I need nothing more than You for life
I love You-in-me and me-in-You to distraction.
Nothing and no one means more to me, Love
we can no longer be separated
to take You from me would mean my death
I can no longer see the join between us.
You have fulfilled me and filled me
all is seen through Your eyes
I love You with every breath of my heart
I beg of You Lord Jesus, come soon!

-HolyFool

Son, I Beseech You, Don't Sleep Any More

"I shall be in agony till the end of time," God says.
I shall be crucified till the end of time.
My sons the Christians don't seem to realise it.
I am scourged, buffeted, stretched out, crucified. I die in front of them and they don't know it, they see nothing, they are blind.
They are not true Christians, or they would not go on living while I am dying.

Lord, I don't understand; it is not possible; you exaggerate.
I would defend you if you were attacked.
I would be at your side if you were dying.
Lord, I love you!

That is not true, God says. Men are deluding themselves.
They say they love me, they believe they love me, and, as I am willing to admit, they are often sincere, but they are terribly mistaken. They do not understand, they do not see.
Slowly everything has been distorted, dried up, emptied.
They think they love me because once a month they honour my Sacred Heart.
As if I loved them only twelve times a year!
They think they love me because they keep to their devotions regularly, attend a benediction, eat fish on Fridays, burn a candle or say a prayer before a picture of my Sacred Heart.

But I am not made of plaster, God says, nor of stone nor of bronze.
I am living flesh, throbbing, suffering.
I am among men, and they have not recognised me.
I am poorly paid, I am unemployed, I live in a slum, I have tuberculosis, I sleep under bridges, I am in prison, I am oppressed, I am patronised.
And yet I said to them: "Whatever you do to my brothers, however humble, you do to me"...Thats clear.
The worst is that they know it, but that they don't take it seriously.
They have broken my heart, God says, and I have waited for someone to have pity on me, but no one has.

I am cold, God says, I am hungry, I am naked.
I am imprisoned, laughed at, humiliated.
But this is a minor passion, for men have invented more terrible ordeals.
Armed with their liberty, formidably armed with their liberty,
They have invented...
"Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing."
They have invented war, true war.
And they have invented the Passion.

For I am everywhere that men are, God says,
Since the day when I slipped among them, on a mission, to save them all.
Since the day when I definitely committed myself to trying to gather them together.

Now I am rich and I am poor, a workman and a boss.
I am a Union member and a non-Union member, a striker and a strike-breaker, for men, alas! make me do all kinds of things.
I am on the side of the demonstrators and on the side of the police, for men, alas! transform me into a policeman.
I am a leftist, a rightist and even in the centre.
I am this side of the Iron Curtain and beyond.
I am a German and a Frenchman, a Russian and an American,
A Chinese from Nationalist China and one from Communist China,
I am from Vietnam and from Vietminh.
I am everywhere men are, God says.

They have accepted me, they possess me, the traitors!
Hail, Master!
And now I am with them, one of them, their very selves.
Now, see what they have done to me...
They are scourging me, crucifying me,
They tear me apart when they kill one another.
Men have invented war...
I jump on mines, I gasp my last breath in foxholes,
I moan, riddled with shrapnel; I collapse under the volley of machine-gun fire,
I sweat men's blood on all battlefields,
I cry out in the night and die in the solitude of battle.
O world of strife, immense cross on which, every day, men stretch me.
Wasn't the wood of Golgotha enough?
Was this immense altar necessary for my sacrifice of love?
While around me, men keep on shouting, singing, dancing, and, as if insane, crucify me in an enormous burst of laughter.
Lord, enough! Have pity on me!
Not that! it isn't I!

Yes, son, it is you.
You, and your brothers, for
several blows are needed to drive in a nail,
several lashes are needed to furrow a shoulder,
several thorns are needed to make a crown,
and you belong to the humanity that all together condemns me.
It matters not whether you are among those who hit or among those who watch, among those who perform or among those who let it happen.
You are all guilty, actors and spectators.
But above all, son, don't be one of those who are asleep, one of those who can still fall asleep...in peace. Sleep!
Sleep is terrible!
"Can you not watch one hour with me?"

On your knees, son! Do you not hear the roar of battle?
The bell is ringing,
Mass is starting,
God is dying for you, crucified by men.

-Michel Quoist

The Abbey Walk

Allone as i went vp and doun
In ane abbay wes fair to se
Thinkand quhat consolatioun
Wes best in to aduersitie
On cais i kest on syd myne e
And saw this writtin vpoun a wall
Off quhat estait man that thow be
Obey and thank thi god off all

Thy kindome and thy grit empyre
Thy ryeltie nor rich array
Sall nocht indure at thi desyre
Bot as the wind will wend away
Thy gold and all thi gudis gay
Quhen fortoun list will fra the fall
Sen thow sic sampillis seyis ilk day
Obey and thank thi god of all

Iob was moist riche in writ we find
Thobe moist full of cheretie
Iob wox peur and thoby blynd
Baith temptit with aduersitie
Sen blindnes wes infirmitie
And povertie was naturall
Thairfoir in patience baith he and he
Obeid and thankit god of all

Thocht thow be blind or haif ane halt
Or in thy face deformit ill
Sa it cum nocht throw thy defalt
Na man sowld the repreif by skill
Blame nocht thy lord sa is his will
Spur nocht thy fute aganis the wall
Bot with meik hairt and prayar still
Obey and thank thy god of all

God of his iustice mon correct
And of his mercy petie haif
He is ane iuge to nane suspect
To pvneis synffull man and saif
Thocht thow be lord attouir the laif
And eftirwart maid bund and thrall
Ane peure begger with skrip and staif
Obey and thank thy god of all

This changeing and grit variance
Of erdly staitis vp and doun
Is nocht bot casualitie and chance
As sum men sayis withowt ressoun
Bot be the grit prouisioun
Of god aboif that rewill the sall
Thairfoir evir thow mak the boun
To obey and thank thy god of all

In welth be meik heiche not thy self
Be glaid in wilfull povertie
Thy power and thy warldlie pelf
Is nocht bot verry vanitie
Remembir him that deit on tre
For thy saik gustit bittir gall
Quha hyis law and lawis he
Obey and thank thy god of all

-Robert Henryson

-HolyFool