Imagining Purgatory
By Deacon Jim Miles
I stand/sit/lay in a place-time that is real but incomprehensible.
As I exist there I can see my life unfolding, a series of vignettes clear and distinct.
I look at one and see the memory of hate or lust; forgiven but applied to one who
accepts the punishment for all of us.
I see that one, “like a Son of Man” accept the blow of my hatred, my uncharitable acts
and wince at the pain of it.
I feel the love of him and, like a conduit, that love transmits the pain of my sin to me.
I feel my soul groan with remorse, contrition beyond understanding.
My whole being screams for that act to be withdrawn and the Son of Man comforted by
my remorse.
In that instant, the pain is gone, the image of that sin winks out and another comes into
focus.
If my sight were through living eyes, tears would blur my vision. Each frame is a point in
my life where I stumbled and fell, failed to love Him, others, even my self.
Each image is relived in infinite detail; the pain of sin rises in waves and is cast aside in
the love of one who created me and knew me from before time.
He/I suffer those cruel strokes and the wave passes and the next image swims into
view.
How many times must this repeat? The life-moments reflected are not welcome, not
enjoyed, even the fleshy ecstasy of lust brings pain as human dignity dies within
it.
Always the loving hand is outstretched as one by one the blemishes wash away; their
awful sting fleetingly remembered.
I do not want to go on. I cannot go on, remembering each fall, reliving each little lie,
each little hate.
But the voice of one who loves me with infinite compassion calls me forward. The spirit
of one who urges me on is irresistible. The promise is held before me.
Thank God there is no time and the prayers of others soften these hurts, make them
bearable.
The prize awaits me, love unbounded and unimagined teases me forward. Soon
enough I will be clean.
By Deacon Jim Miles
I stand/sit/lay in a place-time that is real but incomprehensible.
As I exist there I can see my life unfolding, a series of vignettes clear and distinct.
I look at one and see the memory of hate or lust; forgiven but applied to one who
accepts the punishment for all of us.
I see that one, “like a Son of Man” accept the blow of my hatred, my uncharitable acts
and wince at the pain of it.
I feel the love of him and, like a conduit, that love transmits the pain of my sin to me.
I feel my soul groan with remorse, contrition beyond understanding.
My whole being screams for that act to be withdrawn and the Son of Man comforted by
my remorse.
In that instant, the pain is gone, the image of that sin winks out and another comes into
focus.
If my sight were through living eyes, tears would blur my vision. Each frame is a point in
my life where I stumbled and fell, failed to love Him, others, even my self.
Each image is relived in infinite detail; the pain of sin rises in waves and is cast aside in
the love of one who created me and knew me from before time.
He/I suffer those cruel strokes and the wave passes and the next image swims into
view.
How many times must this repeat? The life-moments reflected are not welcome, not
enjoyed, even the fleshy ecstasy of lust brings pain as human dignity dies within
it.
Always the loving hand is outstretched as one by one the blemishes wash away; their
awful sting fleetingly remembered.
I do not want to go on. I cannot go on, remembering each fall, reliving each little lie,
each little hate.
But the voice of one who loves me with infinite compassion calls me forward. The spirit
of one who urges me on is irresistible. The promise is held before me.
Thank God there is no time and the prayers of others soften these hurts, make them
bearable.
The prize awaits me, love unbounded and unimagined teases me forward. Soon
enough I will be clean.
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