Love you, Madeleine


My favorite author does it again, expressing many of my current feelings. It's nice to know you're not the only person feeling what you are.

Sometimes in this groping dark of knowing my not-knowing
I am exhausted with the struggle to believe in you, O God.
Your ways are not our ways. You sent evil angels to the Egyptians
and killed countless babies in order that Pharoah--
whose heart was hardened by
you (that worries me, Lord)
might be slow to let the Hebrew children go.
You turned back the waters of the Red Sea
and your Chosen people went through on dry land
and the Egyptians were drowned, men with wives and children,
young men with mothers and fathers (your ways are not our ways),
and there was much rejoicing, and the angels laughed and sang
and you stopped them saying, "How can you laugh when my children are drowning?"
When your people reached Mount Sinai you warned Moses
not to let any of them near you lest you break forth and kill them.
You are love--if you are God--and you command us to love,
and yet you yourself turn men to evil, and you wipe out nations
with one sweep of the hand--the Amorites and the Hittites and the
gone, gone, all gone. Sometimes it seems that any means will do.
And yet--all these things are but stories told about you by fallen man,
and they are part of the story--for your ways are not our ways--
but they are not the whole story. You are our author,
and we try to listen and set down what you say, but we all suffer
from faulty hearing and we get the words wrong.
One small enormous thing--you came to us as one of us
and lived with us and died for us and descended into hell for us
and burst out into life for us--:
and now do you hold Pharoah in your arms?

-Madeleine L'Engle

1 comment:

The Librarian said...

thanks for this post, maryann. Madeline is a good companion.