for Jessica and Wilfrid
In the sixteenth century, St. John of
the Cross, imprisoned at Toledo in
a windowless cell, sensed light from above
beaming through a loophole. So he’d begin
his office, honoring that hour of sight
until the sun’s eye had closed, leaving him
in the tight-walled dark, listening to fights
below: muffled voices swirling their rims
of anger in defiance and defense
of St. Teresa. Somehow those rhythms
lifted him to poetry: a conscience
consenting to union with God--soft hymns
with images of bride and groom, like you,
uniting in sacred love only two
souls can find through surrendering themselves.
A love released only when humans choose
to open wide their own dark, tight-walled cells
and let in light of another life whose
light only came with the opening: sense
and spirit moving toward what St. John called
“overflowing mystical intelligence.”
Now sense and spirit blend here, at St. Paul’s,
where we pause to honor that hour of Sight
recognizing your vow’s continuum
beyond space and time, beyond peace and plight
lovers with faith seem to accept with some
strength beyond courage. Your marriage frames it.
But even St. John couldn’t explain it.
Roger Armbrust
October 13, 2001
