OH LORD, THE coolness of the
river's touch! The way it mirrored back the clouds as if I bathed in
sky. I waded out to where the water reached my neck, my beard outspread,
my garments floating free. I let my hands bob up like corks. At sixteen
stone or more, I felt I had, myself, no weight at all. The soul, set
free from flesh at last, must know such peace. And oh, the heart, the
heart! In Jordan to my chin, I knew not if I laughed or wept but only
that the untold weight of sin upon my heart was gone. I ducked my head
beneath, and in the dark I thought I heard that porpoise voice again
that spoke to me the day I nearly drowned in Wash. "Take, eat me,
Godric, to thy soul's delight. Hold fast to him who gave his life for
thee and thine." When I came up again, I cried like one gone daft for
joy. "Be fools for Christ," said the Apostle Paul, and thus I was thy
bearded Saxon fool and clown for sure. Nothing I ever knew before and
nothing I have ever come to know from then till now can match the holy
mirth and madness of that time. Many's the sin I've clipped to since.
Many's the dark and savage night of doubt. Many's the prayer I haven't
prayed, the friend I've hurt, the kindness left undone. But this I know.
The Godric that waded out of Jordan soaked and dripping wet that day
was not the Godric that went wading in. O Thou that asketh much of him
to whom thou givest much, have mercy. Remember me not for the ill I've
done but for the good I've dreamed. Help me to be not just the old and
foolish one thou seest now but once again a fool for thee. Help me to
pray. Help me whatever way thou canst, dear Christ and Lord. Amen.
- Originally published in Godric
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