Friday, January 12, 2007

God's Resplendence in Creation

The faith that I love the best, says God, is hope.

Faith doesn't surprise me.

lt's not surprising.

I am so resplendent in my creation.

In the sun and the moon and in the stars.

In all of my creatures.

In the stars of the firmament and in the fish of the sea.

In the universe of my creatures.

Upon the face of the earth and upon the face of the waters.

In the movements of the stars in heaven.

In the wind that blows upon the sea and in the wind that blows in the valley.

In the peaceful valley.

In the hushed and hidden valley.

In the plants and in the beasts and in the beasts of the forest.

And in man.

My creature.

In peoples and in men and in kings and in peoples.

In man and in woman his companion.

And especially in children.

My creatures.

In the gaze and in the voice of children.

Because children are more my creatures.
Than men are.

They haven't yet been defeated by life.
On earth.

And of them all they are my servants.
Above all.

And the voice of children is purer than the voice of the wind in the calm of the valley.

In the hushed and hidden valley.

And the gaze of children is purer than the blue of the sky, than the milky sky, and than a star's rays in the peaceful night.

Yes, I am so resplendent in my creation.

Upon the face of the mountains and on the face of the plains.

In bread and in wine and in the man who tills and in the man who sows and in the harvest of grain and in the harvest of grapes.

In the light and in the darkness.

And in the heart of man, which is what is most profound in the world.

The created world.

So profound it is impenetrable to all eyes.

Except my own.

In the tempest that rocks the waves and in the tempest that shakes the leaves.

The leaves of the trees in the forest.

And conversely in the calm of a beautiful evening.

In the sands of the sea and in the stars that are grains of sand in the sky.

In the stone of the threshold and in the stone of the hearth and in the stone of the altar.

In prayer and in sacraments.

In men's houses and in the church that is my house on earth.

In my creature the eagle who flies upon the peaks.

The kingly eagle who has a wingspan of at least two meters and sometimes three.

And in my creature the ant who creeps and who hoards pettily.

In the ground.

In the ant, my servant.

And even in the serpent.

In my servant the ant, my tiny servant, who hoards greedily like a miser.

Who works like one unhappy and who has no break and who has no rest.

But death and but the long sleep of winter.

shrugging his shoulders from so much evidence
before so much evidence

I am so resplendent in all of my creation.

In the tiny one, in my tiny creature, in my tiny servant, in the tiny ant.

Who hoards greedily, like man.

Like tiny man.

And who digs tunnels in the dirt.

In the cellars of the earth.

For stingily gathering his treasures.

His worldly treasures.


And even in the serpent.

Who tricked the woman and who for that crawls on his belly.

And who is my creature and who is my servant.

The serpent who tricked the woman.

My servant.

Who tricked man my servant.

I am so resplendent in my creation.

In all that happens to men and to peoples, and to the poor.

And even to the rich.

Who don't want to be my creatures.

And who take refuge.

From being my servants.

In all the good and evil that man has done and undone.

(And I am above it all, because I am the master, and I do what he has undone and I undo what he has done.)

And unto the temptation to sin.


And in all that happened to my son.

Because of man.

My creature.

Whom I had created.

In the conception, in the birth and in the life and in the death of my son.

And in the holy sacrifice of the Mass.

In every birth and in every life.

And in every death.

And in eternal life that will never end.

That will overcome all death.

I am so resplendent in my creation.

That in order really not to see me these poor people would have to be blind.

Charity, says God, that doesn't surprise me.

It's not surprising.

These poor creatures are so miserable that unless they had a heart of stone, how could they not have love for each other.

How could they not love their brothers.

How could they not take the bread from their own mouth, their daily bread, in order to give it to the unhappy children who pass by.

And my son had such a love for them.

My son their brother.

Such a great love.

But hope, says God, that is something that surprises 'me.

Even me.

That is surprising.

Charles Peguy, Portal of the Mystery of Hope trans. David Louis Schindler, Jr. (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdman's, 1996), 3-6. Another edition available here.

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