Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
It’s left for me, to preach to these monks of the Skellig and explain myself as I am called a “sign.”
“All of Creation, the earth, the beauty, the love and our sacred ability to touch and to be touched are all signs — on earth to speak of heaven. The whole of touchable, visible, beautiful Creation of earth speaks the heavenly truth, ‘God is.’ Love would be unfathomable if it had no earthly sign. Friendship, familial bonds, parental obligation, even sexual passion are earthly signs to speak of the invisible, present, all-encompassing love.”
I see shocked faces gaping at me — some loves are taboo here. Original sin keeps its luster even in a world made only of a vertical rock face.
“All beauty on earth becomes signs of the invisible, explaining the experience of heaven. I am a sign — an earthly messenger of something more.
“In the Gospel of John, the signs aren’t hidden to be discovered anew with each turning of a leaf or wonder at a sunrise. In John seven signs were extraordinary and performed only by Jesus. So, my dear friend and teacher made me a sign when he called me back from my first death. There was, of course, a Roman plot to start rumors that I could finally stay dead, [John 12:10] which would have made me a sign of a temporary resuscitation, and the message would be that our spiritual nature is as mortal as our earthly nature. But, not so. The spiritual life isn’t bound by the rules of mortality. Spiritual life is immortal and abides with God as love — before our physical births and after our physical deaths, even while we live as mortals, we are also spiritual by nature. Apparently, people weren’t adept at understanding that, so Jesus made a sign to speak it.”
“How did you arrive here?” One asks.
I was sailing with a river merchant to Iona, when we were wrecked in a storm at sea, and both of us drown. My bones were washed ashore here. It was Brother Lugh who found me and Brother Timothy who granted me the time and comfort for the healing.
Now, everyone is shouting questions at me. The abbot is furious; his own shouts only raise the noise level. There is no decorum, just a cacophony of each talking above the other.
I speak what the abbot is shouting, “Please, peace, my friends, this is a solemn service of worship. I will answer questions afterwards.”
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 