In honour of St John of the Cross

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18 Responses to In honour of St John of the Cross

  1. Brother Burrito says:

    The lyrics for this:

    Upon a darkened night
    The flame of love was burning in my breast
    And by a lantern bright
    I fled my house while all in quiet rest

    Shrouded by the night
    And by the secret stair I quickly fled
    The veil concealed my eyes
    While all within lay quiet as the dead.


    O, night thou was my guide!
    O, night more loving than the rising sun!
    O, night that joined the Lover to the beloved one!
    Transforming each of them into the other.

    Upon that misty night
    In secrecy beyond such mortal sight
    Without a guide or light
    Than that which burned as deeply in my heart.

    That fire ’twas led me on
    And shone more bright than of the midday sun
    To where He waited still
    It was a place where no one else could come.


    Within my pounding heart
    Which kept itself entirely for Him
    He fell into His sleep
    beneath the cedars all my love I gave.

    From o’er the fortress walls
    The wind would brush His hair against His brow
    And with its smoother hand
    caressed my every sense it would allow.


    I lost my self to Him
    And laid my face upon my Lover’s breast
    And care and grief grew dim
    As in the morning’s mist became the light.
    There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair.


  2. Brother Burrito says:

    It is still my firmly held opinion that Our Lord would rather that we were mystics than mere theologians or philosophers, though He wouldn’t be averse to a blend of all three!

    Love (of God and neighbour) is best communicated by verses like these, though the listener does have to have ears to hear.

    St John of the Cross, St John of Avila, St John of God and St Teresa of Avila, pray for us.


  3. afmm says:

    Beautiful lyrics. Thank you Burrito.


  4. johnhenrycn says:

    ‘Tis beautiful, afmm. Couldn’t agree more. I shall listen to that piece a couple of times (at least) tonight and save it. But I’ve got a dirty little (ex) Protestant secret, I’m compelled to share with you. I also absolutely love this tribute to “Touchdown Jesus”: jesus flickr

    a huge wooden statue that used to be on I-75, between Dayton and Cincinnati, Ohio (ever drive by it Toad?), before it was struck by lightning and burned to the ground, except for its iron frame (I mean, how symbolic is that?)…

    so, perhaps, my aesthetic judgement leaves something to be desired.

    Anyroad, when I driving by that statue, I always wanted to sing that old Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young song – “Our God is a Very, Very, Very Large God:


  5. toad says:

    To be honest JH, Toad doesn’t recall that “Touchdown Jesus,” although he has driven that stretch of ‘pike more times than he cares to remember.
    Fantastically boring it is, too. The one “TJ” he does personally know is/was at one end of Notre Dame Stadium, South Bend Indiana.
    There are pix. More of a wide receiver, Jesus always seemed to me
    Blasphemy, possibly.
    God sure is large.
    But so is the stadium.


  6. Cool reply, Toad. Obviously, you keep your eyes on the road, instead of girl hitchhikers or Jesus statues; but please tell our “Jerry” that you’re a “Yank”, unless you’ve renounced your citizenship, because he’s operating under a misapprehension.


  7. “Your comment is awaiting moderation.”

    …which is my comment at 22:08 to toadmeister. That’s okay. Love.


  8. johnhenrycn says:

    Well, Toad, you may be saved. Yet.


  9. johnhenrycn says:

    Toad, here’s a song I’ve long treasured and now offer especially for you:

    Now – do you have an equally beautiful one that you treasure and mean especially for us?


  10. johnhenrycn says:

    …No, you don’t, Toad – because, although CP&S people exult in specialness, you exult only in weirdeness.


  11. johnhenrycn says:

    “Weirdness”, I meant to say, but WordPress is such a crummy editor.


  12. johnkonnor72 says:

    …thanks for ruining the most theologically perspicacious mystical poem every written….namely…the ascent of mount St. John of the Cross…if the road to perdition is paved with good intentions then this song is certainly a great exposulation of the aphorism…this song makes the process of self mortification look like a frolick through a dew swept gladed glen…when in reality it is a painful dark night of the sense… oh well too much sap not enough sapience ….thanks for the nice post…i guess you need to be an enya fan to appreciate …


  13. toad says:

    JH, Toad is a Brit who lived in Lonoon until 1990, (bit of time in Madrid in the mid 80’s) then in U.S. until 2005. Then Spain, until he dies. And he is not a bit weird. Just small and green. Like any Toad.

    And many thanks for the song, which is an old fave of his, not listened to for years, Newman’s lyrics are banal and brilliant at the same time. A sort of genius.

    Music? Millions. But this always brings a tear to Toad’s old minces. Hope it works. I never know.


  14. johnhenrycn says:

    Sorry to disappoint, JK72. The fact / truth is: you are valued as much as me – more valued, some say – as a commenter on this blog . I’ve no problem with that. What I have a problem with is deep thoughts that I cannot understand; and when a commenter expresses deep thoughts that I don’t understand, I get annoyed. Go figure.


  15. johnhenrycn says:

    Friend Toad:
    ” And he [Toad] is not a bit weird.”

    Sorry to disappoint (did I already say that?), but yes, you are definitely weird. In a nce way.

    “Toad… lived in Lonoon until 1990”?

    Is that anywhere near Upper Bucklebury in Berks? As a “Brit”, you must know.


  16. toad says:

    True, JH, Toad WordPresses himself again.

    That should read, “Looned in Livden.”


  17. johnhenrycn says:

    Quite, Toad. You were charitable enough not to remark on my own typo, but you are so ignorant, you probably didn’t even see it.


  18. johnhenrycn says:

    tic, tic, tic…
    (20 minutes later)
    God bless expats in Spain.
    Tell me this, Moratinos, what is the best semi-autobiographical account you have ever read about a Spanish matador?


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