Godric, Time, Storms, and the Lord of Heaven

One of the best things about moving to San Antonio is I get to spend a lot of time with Rob (I think the comments should be directed towards how Rob might respond to this statement). One of the best things about spending time with Rob is I have someone to suggest what book I should read next—although, it’s rather like a strong exhortation; ok, a command!

One book that Rob recently lent me is Godric, by Frederick Buechner (BEEK-nur). This is a fascinating tale about a 12th century saint (Perhaps one might wonder whether the word “fascinating” can be used of a 12th century saint?)—written from the perspective of the saint: Godric. This is all I am going to tell you about the plot because I want all of you, I mean Rob wants all of you, to read this yourselves. You bunch of lazy @$$*$! Actually, I do not want to feel obligated to write one of those plot spoiler warnings at the beginning of this post...Ok, I will tell you a little bit simply because I am trying to make a point.

Just near the middle of the book (60-61), as Godric is making his way to Rome, he is plagued with one seeming disaster after another—the portrait of which Godric paints with these words,

Except that there they have no end, the pains of Hell can be no sharper than the pains we suffer here, nor the Fiend himself more fiendish than a man. Oh Queen of Heaven, pray for us. Have pity on the pitiless for thy dear Son our Savior’s sake.

At home the leaves are falling sere when we behold at last the hills of Rome.

I love the line from his prayer—‘Have pity on the pitiless…’

Anyhoo…Right in the middle of his ranting (this is what I think it is) Ailred, Abbot of Rievaulx, staring into the sky as the rain has now stopped and the sun is shining through, says this,

‘You speak of time, Godric,’ Ailred said. His cough for once was gone. ‘Time is a storm. Times past and times to come, they heave and flow and leap their bounds like Wear. Hours are clouds that change their shapes before your eyes. A dragon fades into a maiden’s scarf. A monkey’s grin becomes an angry fist. But beyond time’s storm and clouds there’s timelessness. Godric, the Lord of Heaven changes not, and even when our view’s most dark, he’s there above us fair and golden as the sun.’ And so it is.
‘God’s never gone,’ my gentle, ailing Ailred said. ‘It’s only men go blind.’

As I sat at my desk this morning thinking about Godric, thinking about the Lord of Heaven and Time, the following thoughts came to my mind:

Time is tricky just as storms are tricky. At one moment we cry out and beg God to slow down time—just as farmers cry out to God for a few more inches of rain! Yet at other moments we wish that time would fade away, leaving no trail behind to follow—just as the disciples cried out to Jesus, ‘Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?’

In the midst of these various periods of time we have at least two choices. We can, as Godric did, and as the disciples did, see only the storm itself. That is, we can choose only to focus on the circumstance itself. This, I think, will lead us to react in much the same way Godric, the Israelites, the disciples did. Or, in the midst of the storm, we can see through the clouds and look for the light that will shine through as Ailred did. We can choose to remember in those circumstances that God is never gone. We can choose to see, or we can choose to remain blind.

Thoughts?