O living flame of love
That tenderly wounds my
soul
In its deepest
center! Since
Now you are not
oppressive,
Now Consummate! If it be
your will:
Tear through the veil of
this sweet encounter!
O sweet cautery,
O delightful wound!
O gentle hand! O delicate touch
That tastes of eternal
life
And pays every debt!
In killing you changed
death into life.
O lamps of fire!
In whose splendors
The deep caverns of
feeling,
Once obscure and blind,
Now give forth, so
rarely, so exquisitely,
Both warmth and light to
their beloved.
How gently and lovingly
You wake in my heart,
Where in secret you dwell
alone;
And in your sweet
breathing,
Filled with good and
glory,
How tenderly you swell my
heart with love.
—John of the Cross
You have lit this flame in
me, O God, and I burn with love for you. Yet at times I am content to
hide the flame, to put it in a jar or under a bed, rather than setting it on a
stand and letting it shine. Sometimes I do this out of fear, sometimes I
do it out of laziness, and sometimes I do it out of comfort—not wanting to go
through the anxiety and the angst that putting this light on a stand creates in
me. But this flame, which you have lit, was made to shine, so that
those who come in can see the light. All it really costs me is to
be; to be the one you have made me to be, and shine. After all,
that's what a light does, right?
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