This icon of Christ Pantocrator (Christ the Ruler) is venerated in the crypt-chapel of the the Benedictine Monks of Glenstal Abbey in Ireland. So I begin the day, while it is still dark, silent before the icon which is teaching me the truth of Carl Jung's insight:
"We should not pretend to understand the world only by the intellect; we apprehend it just as much by feeling. Therefore, the judgment of the intellect is, at best, only half the truth, and must, if it be honest, also come to an understanding of its inadequacy." C.G. Jung ~ Psychological Types
Join me in the gazing. In Christ, God now has a human face. It is an all-compassionate face. His eyes understand as he steps up to the window's edge where heaven and earth touch. His side is burnished; our side is charred. Did you notice?
In Christ, there is no longer earth-here and heaven-there. He blesses us with his right hand. His all-merciful eyes jump the gap. The opened Gospel book reveals the text: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." Mt. 11:28
In Christ, there is no longer earth-here and heaven-there. He blesses us with his right hand. His all-merciful eyes jump the gap. The opened Gospel book reveals the text: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." Mt. 11:28
Many people visit the Glenstal icon and claim it to be a source of healing. I don't doubt it. But while we pray for our dear ones who are sick, may we also hope for our own healing—may we be healed of our confident indocility, energy-stealing anxieties, compulsions, addictions, indifference, resentments. Standing before the icon in cyber-presence, may we pray for the world and our nation, afflicted from within.
~ ~ ~
The compassionate eyes of Christ,
looking up—
seeing the vast crowd and
healing all the sick.
The tender eyes of Christ,
noticing
the widowed mother
and saying to her,
"Don't be afraid."
The pitying eyes of Christ,
greeting the kneeling leper,
excluded and shamed,
and saying, "I do will it; be clean."
The benevolent eyes of Christ,
stopping in all the towns and villages,
the marginal places—
shepherding eyes of inclusion.
Forbearing eyes of Christ,
shine light into the world's woundslooking up—
seeing the vast crowd and
healing all the sick.
The tender eyes of Christ,
noticing
the widowed mother
and saying to her,
"Don't be afraid."
The pitying eyes of Christ,
greeting the kneeling leper,
excluded and shamed,
and saying, "I do will it; be clean."
The benevolent eyes of Christ,
stopping in all the towns and villages,
the marginal places—
shepherding eyes of inclusion.
Forbearing eyes of Christ,
of militarization,
child neglect,
bio-destruction,
runaway greed,
gross vanity,
the feeble souls.
Warm eyes of Christ,
melt the hearts
frozen with hatred,
gross stupidity,
blind loyalty.
Empathic eyes of Christ,
revealing your broken heart,
your deeply-moved,
pitying heart
for our en-flamed world,
our cultural suffocation.
Understanding eyes of Christ,
how have we come to this—
that we have so failed
the planet-gift,
that the news we create is so cruel,
that we can't seem to get it right?
Curative eyes of Christ,
in our disorientation,
bewilderment,
misery,
unhappiness,
despite the braggadocio of
greatness
and economic wonder.
Fellow-feeling eyes of Christ,
access to God's gut-churned heart
for our sickness,
our coarse humanity,
our savagery—
the president expands the use of landmines,
the punished boy found dead in the garage,
the swan kicked to death—
her mate,
her cygnets plying the stream, searching—
our idiotic sense of humor.
My desperate, crying heart knows your icon is the way.
And so I run to you this morning,
God of hearts—
to meet you,
to greet you
in your caring gaze,
your merciful,
healing eyes.
