The silence of the marsh was so profound that it could have been the flip side of the singing in my church. Just last Sunday the people had sung the old spiritual, "Go Down, Moses," a cappella because the pianist was gone, and a bunch of people were crying, singing very loudly with their eyes closed, and the singing of that cry of a song was a wonderful form of communion. How come you can hear a chord, and then another chord, and then your heart breaks open?
I gave up trying to stop the tears. I abandoned my ruined defenses:
"I don't deserve any support from God after what I did." "Maybe not, but God's not interested in operating a brownie-point system – only in loving and forgiving those who are brave enough not to deny what they've done, no matter how terrible, brave enough to be truly sorry, brave enough to resolve to make a fresh start in serving Love as well as they possibly can."
I sat there with tears streaming down my face, and then just as I was thinking how utterly I was cut off from the Great Healer, that shining, mysterious figure I had tried so hard for so long to follow, Clare reached out across the table and briefly covered my clenched fists with her scarred hands.