The Heart of Stone

…And thus we rust Life’s iron chain

Degraded and alone:

And some men curse, and some men weep,

And some men make no moan:

But God’s eternal Laws are kind

And break the heart of stone.

 

And every human heart that breaks,

In prison-cell or yard,

Is as that broken box that gave

Its treasure to the Lord,

And filled the unclean leper’s house

With the scent of costliest nard.

 

Ah! Happy those whose hearts can break

And peace of pardon win!

How else may man make straight his plan

And cleanse hi soul from Sin?

How else but through a broken heart

May Lord Christ enter in?

 

 

– Oscar Wilde, selection from The Ballad of Reading Gaol

 

I feel this in my bones – I feel that the times my heart is moved to love God the most, it is when my heart breaks for the beauty of the Lord, for the sorrow at the depth of his love, and for the richness of his patience; his eternal kindness and long suffering. I don’t know why I experience this reaction as sorrow or sadness, but that is almost exactly how I feel; I love him most when he breaks my heart. So perhaps there is a truth here; how else may the Lord enter in, unless our hearts break? Perhaps sorrow is our dearest friend, for it opens up our hearts and makes a place to receive his Goodness, his Truth, and his Love.

ADVENIAT REGNUM TUUM

Not that the widespread wings of wrong brood o’er a moaning earth,

Not from the clinging curse of gold, the random lot of birth;

Not from the misery of the weak, the madness of the strong,

Goes upward from our lips the cry, “How long, oh Lord, how long?”

Not only from the huts of toil, the dens of sin and shame,

From lordly halls and peaceful homes the cry goes up the same;

Deep in the heart of every man, where’er his life be spent,

There is a noble weariness, a holy discontent.

Where’er to mortal eyes has come, in silence dark and lone,

Some glimmer of the far-off light the world has never known,

Some ghostly echoes from a dream of earth’s triumphal song,

Then as the vision fades we cry, “How long, oh Lord, how long?”

Long ages, from the dawn of time, men’s toiling march has wound

Towards the world they ever sought, the world they never found;

Still far before their toiling path the glimmering promise lay,

Still hovered round the struggling race, a dream by night and day.

Mid darkening care and clinging sin they sought their unknown home,

Yet ne’er the perfect glory came—Lord, will it ever come?

The weeding of earth’s garden broad from all its growths of wrong,

When all man’s soul shall be a prayer, and all his life a song.

Aye, though through many a starless night we guard the flaming oil,

Though we have watched a weary watch, and toiled a weary toil,

Though in the midnight wilderness, we wander still forlorn,

Yet bear we in our hearts the proof that God shall send the dawn.

Deep in the tablets of our hearts he writes that yearning still,

The longing that His hand hath wrought shall not his hand fulfil?

Though death shall close upon us all before that hour we see,

The goal of ages yet is there—the good time yet to be:

Therefore, tonight, from varied lips, in every house and home,

Goes up to God the common prayer, “Father, Thy Kingdom come.”

G.K. Chesterton – 17 years old

Awakening

To think that in the whole course of a life, a man may at last, after many wanderings, creep up an old worn man to his Father’s door – with just strength enough to sit down on the doorsteps, and hardly the strength to knock, and that he will get in and be clothed in youth again – that is worth living for!

George MacDonald – Awakening

More, Not Less

“Ah, reader! It may be your cloud has not passed, and you scorn to hear it called one, priding yourself that your trouble is eternal. But just because you are eternal, your trouble cannot be. You may cling to it, and brood over it, but you cannot keep it from either blossoming into a bliss, or crumbling to dust. Be such while it lasts, that, when it passes, it shall leave you loving more, not less.”

— George MacDonald, Castle Warlock

With Him, Everything

Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him, everything else thrown in.

— C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity