Absent of Grace

I am a deeply blessed person. I have a good job and a good family, at least usually, and at least for the most part. Although my body reminds me each day that it is aging, I have enjoyed good health most of my life. I have travelled a decent amount, at least domestically, and have enjoyed sites and sounds ranging from the babbling rush of a mountain stream to the enormous tranquility of sunset at sea. I have, somehow, frequently found myself in the company of those who are more worthy of such blessings and honors than I may ever be. And most importantly, in all these things, I have found Grace which invites me to drink deeply of these blessings and to share them freely with others. In short, I have found that life can be both journey and adventure, so thoroughly satisfying and good that each new moment brings the refreshment of Grace anew, so that the wonder of Life becomes a celebration of Itself.

But there are days, and there are nights, that are difficult to endure. Sometimes, in spite of my blessings, my body’s ultimate decay seems too close at hand; my job seems useless, hopeless, tedious and dull; and I feel acutely isolated from those whose company honors me and whom at other times I deeply enjoy. At such times, the Grace that I otherwise fellowship with becomes a mere thought: the Truth and Freedom that Grace shares with me become mere fact.

Dark nights of the soul? Yes, sometimes. And sometimes dark weeks, both day and night. The adventure of life becomes emotionally flat, sensually insipid, and devoid of purpose; and the unbroken song of Grace becomes a lament, a funeral dirge, resonating with a longing for Home.

Some people are blessed with a life that is mostly Celebration and Adventure; but many of those whom I know best seem to understand the dark days as well. Those times, which seem so Absent of Grace, will someday be redeemed by that very Grace, and I will be taken to a Land where I will lament no more. Of this I have no doubt. What is truly difficult is not waiting for that day. Instead, during the darkest times, the difficulty lies in searching for the redeeming Presence of that very Grace that seems so distant. During such times, I can resign myself to the darkness, for I know that it will not last forever. But time is short, and I do not want to surrender even the smallest piece of forever to such resignation, especially the part that begins here and now. So I have chosen the more difficult path. On the days that seem most dark, drab, and drear, I will search for Grace. And some days, the Search itself is enough.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.

Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

From Sailing To Byzantium
by William Butler Yeats