Lord, so often I give you what I have plenty of.
Allow me now to offer you all that
which I do not have,
what has been denied to me until now,
for which I have long sighed,
knowing it to be unattainable:
peace, rest, safety.
Now that I know it will belong to you,
that it will be well preserved with you
and become your possession,
I will no longer demand these things.
I will not concern myself with my unease,
which returns senselessly.
In you there is peace, you have embraced it, as have I.
You can distribute it anew without harm.
In you there is safety
– who else would have it? –
you can share it.
Blessed are you, for in you we find what we seek,
and what we believed
we were willingly surrendering to you
was in you from the very beginning.
And yet we thank you for accepting it from us.
Lord, not only do you take what we lack:
keep it.
Only the Lord can lay foundations.
He may leave to us the task
of gathering a few ears from his newly grown harvest.
What we offer him is that
which was already his long before.
The living fire will not cease to burn
until it has consumed everything and transformed it into ash.
But no one desires ash.
It may be scattered across the earth, devoid of life,
hidden, just as it is, barren.
Yet it can still be completely crushed,
to serve a purpose of which it knows nothing at all.
Lord, turn us to ash
and scatter us according to your will.
If I should still tell you what I want,
do not listen to it.
I believe, even against all appearances,
that I am still yours,
and I know no will but yours.
Amen.
(Adrienne von Speyr /1902–1967/,
Bei Gott und bei den Menschen. Gebete.
Translation Robert Svatoň)
