Birth’s Cry He thought his life’s work done. And yet an unhoped for voyage awaits across the desert of mind and soul, a confrontation to cast underfoot the demon of nothingness - who contests God’s creation, who numbs souls and minds beguiles them into nonbeing to be welter and waste. Peturbed he wrestles his calling: “Is this voyage to be my last, before my birth? One last voyage to put down this creeping nothingness, This demon’s shadow stalks the faithful, destroys hopes of animated breath, intimidates hope’s promise in the voyage through death. Now is this to be a prolonged birth, held in earth’s womb that my animated breath be used once more? O I have lived long, no earthly desires remain, my numbered days seem no more. O like Saint Paul I yearn to leave, made fully human - the glory of Crìost, resurrected in the image of God. And why this delay? I so desire to be born from earth’s womb into the fullness of resurrected life. When shall earth’s waters be broken? Let the labour pains begin, my birth into Christ’s glory. Yet I turn to face He whose death defeats death resurrects life - to be made fully human by grace in the image of God - the glory of Christ. So I call upon He who creates light amidst darkness, and the darkness knows, light it can not overthrow. I call upon the Living Word who out of nothing creates life, I call upon the Heavenly Host, as the did Saints through the ages, to encircle each step of the way. My breath soon must cease, aged and weary my work done, or so I thought. This is no lament, no complaint like Job, no question of ‘to be or not to be?’ But might I pray, 'Deliver me from this trial'? Or simply say, 'Let it be,' for the love of the stranger, O let it be for the love of my neighbour, for the love of God?” If 'let it be' unleash once more your mighty power, vivify my animated flesh, my tired breath. And I too shall face, as did the Saints, the demon of nothingness that infests mind and soul; who by stealth wearies the heart. As did the Desert Fathers I shall rest my head upon the breast of Christ, my weak flesh enlivened by the Living Word, my breath nourished by the Spirit, And I shall drink from the chalice, eat shared bread. If 'let it be', my vessel awaits all the wisdom and power of Christ - fire in the marrow of old bones. Let my martyrdom on earth be in the fullness of time bearing fruit with joy.”
© Craig A Roberts, 2023 Celtic Advent Photo: Adobestock