The Egyptians, in their ancient wisdom, act in the desert a great
androsphinx, image of mystery and silence, staring from under level
brows across the arid sands of the sea-way. The Greeks borrowed
and debased the image, turning the inscrutable into a semi-woman
who asked a foolish riddle, and hurled herself down in petulant
pride when OEdipus answered aright. So we, marring the office of
silence, question its mystery; thwart ourselves with riddles of our
own suggesting; and turn away, leaving our offering but half
consumed on the altar of the unknown god. It was not the theft of
fire that brought the vengeance of heaven upon Prometheus, but the
mocking sacrifice. Orpheus lost Eurydice because he must see her
face before the appointed time. Persephone ate of the pomegranate
and hungered in gloom for the day of light which should have been
endless.
The universe is full of miracle and mystery; the darkness and
silence are set for a sign we dare not despise. The pall of night
lifts, leaving us engulphed in the light of immensity under a
tossing heaven of stars. The dawn breaks, but it does not surprise
us, for we have watched from the valley and seen the pale twilight.
Through the wondrous Sabbath of faithful souls, the long day of
rosemary and rue, the light brightens in the East; and we pass on
towards it with quiet feet and opening eyes, bearing with us all of
the redeemed earth that we have made our own, until we are
fulfilled in the sunrise of the great Easter Day, and the peoples
come from north and south and east and west to the City which lieth
foursquare--the Beatific Vision of God.
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