The Little Man in White, Limping

We may see God before we know His name

Photo by Coronel Gonorrea on Unsplash

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a weary world.
                                                                -- Shakespeare

One knows this day is coming. One prepares, “It won’t be long now,” yet the loss dumbfounds. Though not a Roman Catholic – or Christian, in a conventional sense – I revere God’s messengers – see myself as one – in my own small way. Nutty as it sounds, I consider myself sent – to do God’s work – until I can’t. I do not know what that work is – but if I listen hard I might hear – faintly – like a birdsong in a roar. A few great souls, living and dead, historical and imaginary, have gusted me in God’s direction. Pope Francis, like his namesake, was one. His absence saddens; the world feels beggared by his death. Yet his example flickers in me, like a votive candle in a dark apse, and will till the last.

Talk of God discomforts – except from the pulpit, where it’s mostly ignored. To pray is o…