It was 6:37 a.m. this morning when I looked up from reading the updated statistics of the cases and deaths from the Coronavirus and saw the sun just below the top of my backyard mountain looking like a supersize flashlight that God had turned on just for me. Now it’s almost 8:00 and I am still sitting with a heavy heart because of the state of our state (NY)—highest statistics for infections and deaths from the virus—and the state of our nation and the world. There is no good news as we march toward Holy Week to consider what seemed to be the end of the amazing ministry of Jesus, the miracle worker.
There is no possibility of looking directly out my window now, however, because the sun is too bright. I can no longer see the mountain and I notice a stirring inside me that is totally contradictory of all that I have been considering since my morning began. It rises like the words of Thomas Merton as I read a random (?) psalm prayer to obliterate the darkness and get me off my chair to face the day.
Love comes out of God and gathers us to God in order to pour itself back into God through all of us and bring us all back to Him on the tide of His own infinite mercy. So we all become doors and windows through which God shines back into His own house. (New Seeds of Contemplation, p. 67, quoted by Kathleen Deignan in Thomas Merton: A Book of Hours, p.153.)