Heart Water

 

Not all radiant moments which defy words are joyful. Sometimes the Radiance illuminates loss and grief which, if one stays with it, transports to a place where tears are no more, loss is gathered up, all becomes One.

Shortly after the Vietnam War Memorial was installed in D.C., I made the trip and began walking down the green alone. As I began the journey on a brilliant day I could not see the memorial; I could only trust that it was where the map said it was. I walked expectantly but at first, mindlessly. I was vaguely aware of the trees and the birds and the children, when I noticed ahead of me in the direction of the monument, or where I thought it might be, a thin black line appearing on the horizon. As I walked, now more slowly, the line thickened and rose above the lush green, starkly contrasting with anything gentle or colorful. Yet it glistened.

Suddenly, and without any build-up I could control, I literally fell to my knees weeping. When I was able to rise and continue, I wept all the way and spread my tears on the names of the wall as though consecrating or connecting. I did not  know any person who died, yet those names, those deaths were as intimately related to me as my brother or sister. Their loss was grief remembered. The tragedy was real.

There are no words to explain. There was meaning in the space, albeit unknown territory. There was compassion and mercy and grace, hopefully marked with silence and tears. 

For me this was a holy moment in which the wordless radiance of God carried and accompanied and provided enough. Gesture, tears, journey, monument, names engraved....

And Jesus wept.