My heart is confident in you, O God; my heart is confident. No wonder I can sing your praises! Wake up, my heart! Wake up, O lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song. I will thank you, Lord, among all the people. I will sing your praises among the nations. For your unfailing love is as high as the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds.
Be exalted, O God, above the highest heavens. May your glory shine over all the earth.
Psalm 57:7–11
You are my private garden, my treasure, my bride, a secluded spring, a hidden fountain.
You are a garden fountain, a well of fresh water streaming down from Lebanon's mountains.
Song of Songs 4:12, 15
After this I saw a vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language, standing in front of the throne and before the Lamb. They were clothed in white robes and held palm branches in their hands. And they were shouting with a great roar,
"Salvation comes from our God who sits on the throne and from the Lamb!"
And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living beings. And they fell before the throne with their faces to the ground and worshiped God. They sang,
"Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and strength belong to our God forever and ever! Amen."
Then one of the twenty-four elders asked me, "Who are these who are clothed in white? Where did they come from?"
And I said to him, "Sir, you are the one who knows."
Then he said to me, "These are the ones who died in the great tribulation. They have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb and made them white.
"That is why they stand in front of God's throne and serve him day and night in his Temple. And he who sits on the throne will give them shelter.
Revelation 7:7–15
Once you've heard a child cry out to heaven for help,
and go unanswered,
nothing's ever the same again.
Nothing.
Even God changes.
But there is a healing hand at work
that cannot be deflected from its purpose.
I just can't make sense of it, other than to cry.
Those tears are part of what it is to be a monk.
Out there, in the world, it can be very cold.
It seems to be about luck, good and bad,
and the distribution is absurd.
We have to be candles, burning between hope and despair,
faith and doubt, life and death,
all the opposites.