Wild Rock Honey

The Word of God written in two tongues,
Hebrew and Greek,
two languages
could not be more different from each other,
the one grounded in bedrock,
the other rushing ahead of the irresistible wind
that sends men to seek life on the high ‘seas of leaving,’
yes, leaving all behind,
yet losing nothing.

Christ the divine Man and the human God,
mortised in the granite of eternity, yet supple
to bear the only nourishing fruit that can make us immortal:
He is what all religion that is true leads us into.
Everything else is mere barbaric yawp.

Holy Triad the mystery,
Sotiría the progression,
Théosis the perfection.

How can we ascend by our own wings?
Only as the angels,
whose wings are ‘not made by human hands,’
but by the Most-High,
only as the angels can we approach the Son without melting.

Yes, ‘we can know God easily
so long as we do not feel it necessary to define Him.’

Lord, 
help us to learn to speak Your language, 
Your words, 
and purify us thereby, 
by the Spirit 
in whom we live and move and have our being. 

Teach us, 
only Rabbi of mankind, 
the meaning of Your words we utter. 

Satisfy us with the wild rock honey, 
let our crowns burst into flower.
x

— Romanós