Last night I had one of those miserable asleep/not asleep night:- semi insomnia, with a bit of frustration. By 4:00 a.m. I’d had enough and got up to face the day with a couple of cups of coffee, and Penne’s enthusiastic welcome.
I was weary enough to think for a moment that I would not go down to Resurrection House for the weekly prayer service. But then again, many of the friends who would pray with me there had doubtless slept out last night – and it’s beginning to get chilly in this part of S.W.Florida.
So I arrived at Res. House, shot the breeze with some of my homeless friends; kidded around with others. I announced the prayer service – and gosh and be-golly the little chapel was filled – standing room only.
The sense of the presence of the Holy One was palpable. There was a gentle stillness in that room.
And old gospel song came to mind, and I read the words of one of the verses to my brothers and sisters in the Chapel.
The “story’ is that these words were written on the wall in what we used to call an “insane asylum”. I believe them to be powerful and eloquent.
“Could we with ink the ocean fill.
And were the skies of parchment made.
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man (sic) a scribe by trade.
To write the love of God abroad
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.”
Those words express the deepest conviction of those of us who are christian believers.