[one last ’til Thursday…a free-falling meditation I wrote in a coffee shop on John 19:30 spilling all over everything. Ave=”Hail!” and Nova Eva=”New Eve”]
Yes, that’s the heart of Advent.
O preposterous, breaking-and-entering Thief, opening fissures in our hardened Heartland! Onto parched clay, thirsty earth, you splashed, splattered down torrential waters. A dreadful drenching, awe-inducing, hope-producing, life-diffusing Kingdom come.
Into the Land of Impossibles, the Possible. Into the Land of Fate, Providence. Into the Land of Won’t, Will. Into the Land of Can’t, Did. Into the Land of Not, Is. Into the Land of No, Yes. Into the Land of Old, New. Into the Land of Death, Life.
We are the fissures, priests of creation’s undoing, redoing, calling down Downpours on our Land’s re-creation. Offering from desert death, a Garden bloom.
What Child is this, dreaming of such Impossibles? Listen, O priestly-Man, to God-with-us saying in His dying, “It is finished!” Now new, Anything can be — miracles, martyrs, mercy, Mass testify of this eloquently.
O Come, O Come all who tighten the knot of Eve ’round the neck of God! Me, in my every binding sin. Behold! In cradle and cross, One of Three co-entangled, untangling by the Ave to Nova Eva to set us free.
A Gardener, unobtrusive as the dewfall, heavy-laden with sowing seeds, scattering liberally, profusely, wastefully. Beneath His footsteps earth splits open, yawning, yearning, receiving sunward the downfalling Dew; flowering in song.
Awaken. Sprout. Flower. Seed. Die only to Rise in Eternity.