I heard a resounding voice that woke me up this morning, The Republic Is Saved!!!
I have been concerned. So many strange things going on from the pandemic to vitriol to riots to two opposite worldviews presented by the media to now the hard drive with awful stuff on it. But the rejoicing voice this morning brought hope.
I've been reading Richard Rohr's book on the Book of Job the past couple of days. I've read and reread the Book of Job itself, looking for clues to help me understand my strange life, so I eagerly looked forward to his view. As it turned out, his book is sort of my biography. I can relate personally to what he wrote about Job. It occurred to me that our nation, maybe the world, has also been playing out the story of Job.
The Rohr book is called, Job and the Mystery of Suffering, and it ends saying:
If there is no voice from the whirlwind, no calming eyes in the heart of the tempest, humanity can only "sit on its dungheap picking its sores." But we - we few, I'm afraid - have heard a story that is always true. A story that makes all wounds sacred.
It took me a long time to be able to hold my wounds as sacred and cease fighting them, blaming those who brought the wounds, denying there were wounds, etc. As I began to be thankful for my wounds, I could also be thankful for those who tested me by their gifts of wounding. The wounds opened me to a closer walk with God, to deep faith, inspiration, and peace.
Society, at least here, too has been denying our collective wounds and are in a position at this moment in time to embrace them as sacred, therefore able to open to The More. We are in a threshold of possibility. What will we do?