Friday, April 21, 2006

Aliens and Strangers

The times we feel most empty are the times when Jesus draws close around us. We have tasted intimacy and now nothing else can satisfy. Holy groaning, holy mourning, holy grief that leads us closer to home. Nomadic heart, restless soul, come find your meal, your hearth; come place your heavy load by the table. Communion is the traveller's meal, and the unleaven bread, the bitter herbs, the water from a borrowed well. I get so tired of the bag as a pillow, and the stone doesn't ever fit my head. But I know, I know, Jesus, You taste better on the road. My heart is fixed although it is constantly moving; I want to burn You up so I can gain more. My delight and my yearning are one now. Holy longing, Holy burning, Holy calling that leads me home.

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