Listening to the Word

I have spent a lot of time with the Word of God.

I sometimes sit with it as one would with a friend to have a conversation. I try to listen deeply to what it is saying to me and I pour my life into it to see how it fits into its folds. I am then Nicodemus searching for answers by night. I am with the disciples sitting around a campfire listening to Jesus asking, “Who do you say that I am?” I am Mary in her house in Bethany listening to Jesus instead of busying myself with many things.

At other times, the Word sets me in motion, and I mingle with the people Jesus met and tried to reach with his words, with his eyes, with his touch. I am a rich young man who sometimes goes away sad because I find it difficult to let go of my security blankets. I am the bent women who seeks out Jesus in the crowd in the hope of being healed. I am the Samaritan at the well thirsting for happiness and coming away empty-handed so many times until Jesus says, “Give me a drink.” “I thirst”

Often, I find myself at the foot of the cross. There I stand with Mary and John and look up at Jesus, listening intently to the few words he can still utter because it is so difficult for him to breathe, let alone speak.

The Word comes to meet me wherever I am: it is the calming of my stormiest seas, the promise of dawn in my darkest nights, and the gentlest of breezes in my most fragrant gardens.