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There was fire in the bush when Moses first
spoke with God.
There was light too brilliant to be borne.
God covered the prophet’s eyes with his hand.
And then in the darkness they talked.
Beyond sight, Moses heard
and listened to the Word.
But I am like a child at bedtime,
frightened of the dark,
crying out for a drink of water
crying for water
but thirsty for light.
I must leave Egypt and follow the cloud,
for only in that place beyond the galaxies,
further than starfire and the balze of suns,
only beyond all light, beyond all hope of human sight
will I see the source of all illumination
in the radiant glory of the Word.
But I am like a child in a strange house at night
groping through shadowy rooms
toward the sound of voices,
afraid to call and ask where the light can be found.
Further than any man can go alone
in the deepest, darkest reaches of the heart:
here the light is lit, the invisible light
by which alone we see.
Come light this tiny candle, Lord.
Give me a flame of understanding according to your Word.
phoebe, perhaps the very first deacon - Madeleine L’Engle