“The thick darkness where God was”

This is what must first be given to the painting, a harmonious warmth, an abyss into which the eye sinks, a voiceless germination…
(Paul Cézanne)

How often is he shown with those horns of light,
as though his head were itself full
of the brightest luminescence and
two cracks, two holes
had formed inside his skull to let
escape all that light, kept
invisibly, impossibly, inside.

Yet for Rembrandt see
how darkness grabs the eye much more
than all the plainness of that face,
how even those two tablets seem
as black as all the dark to which
we’re told that he drew near, while all
of Israel stood just far enough
away to not be safe.

And when El Greco takes
the striking forms of Sinai as
his text, the darkness is
in every shadow-line beneath
the redness of the clouds, around
those rocky pillars, rising from
the chalky, sketchy ground.

Not darkness, but light, shone forth
from those two tablets when
the light-horned Moses brought them down.
Yet light like that we must squint to see.
When fear declares that only man
is safe, that we can’t bear to hear
the voice that struck the tablets’ side:
O let us step, like Moses, to
that darkness without human horns
where only in that absence
of human sight can all Your light
be ever fully seen.

Lent 19: Third Sunday of Lent

Francois Perrier - Moses Draws Water from the Rock
Francois Perrier – Moses Draws Water from the Rock

           Meanwhile
we clutch unflinching rock with closed fists,
willing water with dusty souls,
           palms closed
and eyes fixed groundward.
 
            Somehow
our hearts lock over each passing grief and seal
themselves around each rock
            as though
our minds could read eternal.
 
            Although
streams do not yet flow out from the ashen earth,
come sing: His hands have formed
            dry ground
and the wild stirring of the seas.