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I am on a pilgrimage.
I seek the Face of God.
In the pain of the world
and in its many false joys
I have sought him.
He comes quietly and unobtrusively—
In crowds, in quiet, in loneliness—
very humanly and very divinely.
In the oasis of our houses he dwells,
and in the stuff of today’s living,
he is there.
In my very being he moves.
Forever he manifests himself.
(The stable was not clean
and neither are our hearts.)
I am on a pilgrimage.
I am being sent. I have been told
to “Arise and go.”
I shall sell the possession of the familiar.
I leave to go into the hearts of others.
My work is a tool, a way.
I go to bear Christ.
I go to seek the Face of God.
I am on a pilgrimage.
I am on a pilgrimage.
Strange that I discovered this in Advent.
I too bear within my being the Word of God.
It is all I carry with me, for I must be empty—
empty of preconceived hows and whys.
But I am certain—certain that I will bear him,
for I too move under
the mysterious shadow of the Spirit.
Réjeanne George 1968
