But for him that speaketh against the spirit of Truth, against the Son of God revealed within him, he is beyond the teaching of that Spirit now. Let him know what it is to be without the God he hath denied. Away with him to the Outer Darkness! Perhaps that will make him repent.
My friends, I offer this as only a contribution towards the understanding of our Lord’s words. But if we ask him, he will lead us into all truth. And let us not be afraid to think, for he will not take it ill. Beyond all discoveries in his words and being, there lie depths within depths of truth that we cannot understand, and yet shall be ever going on to understand. The fact that some things have become to us so much simpler than they were, and that great truths have come out of what once looked common, is ground enough for hope that such will go on to be our experience through the ages to come. Our advance from our former ignorance can measure but a small portion of the distance that lies between our childishness and his manhood, between our love and his love, between our dimness and his mighty vision. To him ere long may we all come, still children, more children than ever, to receive from his hand the white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knowest saving he that receiveth it.
by Diane Adams
The first breaths of spring are here. It’s another foggy morning as dew-dripping grass unfurls in the quiet dawn. Sparkling silver drops hang from a thousand webs, intricate patterns hidden in shadow suddenly blaze to life, quivering in the splendor of the day's first breath. My backyard is a jeweled cathedral, pulsing and singing as the wet and the light raise life from the stillness. Every breath, every birdsong and tiny living thing crawling through the rich greenness is breaking into a melody--the rhythmic, holy song of a reborn earth.
My backyard is a doorway to the truth in myth. The realm of the mythic, that first glimpse of the everyday transformed into something larger, more powerful and primal, is perhaps the deepest plane of truth because it bypasses the mind and speaks straight to the soul. It is here that the Spirit teaches us life itself, with sound and breath and light, he teaches us to wait, to sing and to be, simply as we are. Mythic truths everywhere, once you learn to see them. They’re not only found on mountain tops; they are hidden in the commonplace as well. Don’t turn away without seeing, without reaching a little higher and a little further into the startling mysteries that surround us.
To be still and and hear the morning song in the spring is one of the great gifts one can receive from the life-giver. It is a revelation of about who he is, what he likes, how he talks. Not words from a book, but a living song we can join ourselves, here and now. God is drawing us to himself through his own work. Here, in the backyard, the truth is rebirth. All around there is the sound of becoming. Every blade of grass, every bird and gust of wind is becoming what it must. Here is the quiet to pray and ask, what must I become?
A cathedral is a place of worship. To be overcome by beauty, truth and love is to become one with the same force that calls spring out of winter, life out of death. It is worship. Life in the spirit is not a bunch of dire warnings and fearful thoughts; it is freedom to finally put down all the burden of endless thought, a chance to be present and see and hear what is around us. I think sometimes there are many ways to be born again. The experience is simply waiting for discovery. We are surrounded by cathedrals.