By Edmond Nixon, C.Ss.R
As a child I knew the mystery and felt the awe it birthed. Others later named the mystery, they called it God. And faith the name they gave to awe.
And while still in the grip of life’s fledgling steps, a good I knew that underpinned, diffusive of itself, and which ached to be proclaimed. Gospel the name they gave it.
On life’s giddying Ferris wheel highs and lows took their turn, punctuated by moments of poignantly reshuffled views and experiences. Whether at the top of the ride or at the pith, the mystery onward trod, awe’s raucous squeals drowning out the hymns.
The years have imbued this simple truth: to say there is but little. The rest is knowing joyfully, receiving gratefully and giving lovingly. Laughing … And sometimes being still … Then, here and there, as blessing would give the nod, a privileged action - a share in something larger, something just, something hoped for.
Propitiously in my Redemptorist life is this simple grace: a default-mode for mission.
For all who upon the Ferris wheel have scrambled, their unabashed communion blooms. There remain then the mystery and the awe, and the good to be proclaimed.