Coredemptrix

 

For Good Friday

 

 

“A sword should pierce my heart!”

 

At those words

I passed beyond words,

out of their reach, their clutch.

 

Even the angel spoke in words

and I spoke back.

 

Since then, not speaking,

but thrusting and looking always further,

my heart enfolded in Your greater heart,

as every moment is new and sharp

and the journey begins again.

 

“The Lord is with you!”

 

With me – so am I carried in his pangs

which are pangs of pain,

and in their still essence

pangs of love:

changeless, always at their infinite stress.

 

The sword moves so slowly, so deeply:

pain without blood,

but pain with His blood.

 

These words are true,

but even as I think them

I am carried beyond them:

 

pain

pain

pain

as the heart of my Son absorbs it all in His body

which is mine.

 

 

That drive supports me

which I ever knew.

 

I can no other but follow.

 

Inexhaustible love is a fire

which burns the path.

 

 

Draw[1] me after

draw me with 

the whole way to the completion

 

In union with you

the words fall finally away.

 

So, draw – I come with

 

draw

 

draw

 


 

[1]  “Draw”: cf. Cant 1,4.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coredemptrix

 

Á föstudaginn langa

 

„Sverđ mun nísta hjarta mitt!“

 

Viđ ţessi orđ

gekk ég lengra en öll orđ,

út úr sviđi ţeirra, áhrifavaldi.

 

Jafnvel englarnir töluđu í orđum

og ég svarađi um hćl.

 

Síđan ţá, ţegjandi,

en leitandi, sífellt lítandi fram á viđ,

međ hjarta mitt umlukiđ ţínu mikla hjarta,

og sérhvert andartak nýtt og ferskt

og ferđin hefst á ný.

 

„Drottinn er međ ţér!“

 

Innra međ mér – hrifin af sárum sting hans,

sem er sársaukastingur,

og í innsta kjarna

kćrleiksstingur:

óbreytanlegur, sífellt óendanlega áhrifaríkur.

 

Sverđiđ hreyfist hćgt og djúpt:

sársauki án blóđs,

en sársauki drifinn blóđi hans.

 

Ţessi  orđ eru sönn,

en jafnvel ţegar ég hugsa ţau

hrífa ţau mig í fjarskann:

 

sársauki

sársauki

sársauki

er hjarta Sonar míns safnar ţví öllu saman í líkama sínum

sem er minn.

 

Sá ţróttur styrkir mig,

sem ég hef ćtíđ ţekkt.

 

Ég hlýt ađ fylgja honum.

 

Óslökkvandi ást er eldurinn

sem brennir brautina.

 

Dregur[1] mig á eftir sér

dregur mig međ sér

alla leiđ til fullnunar.

 

Í einingunni viđ ţig

eru orđin loksins óţörf.

 

Drag mig ţví – ég fylgi eftir.

 

drag mig

 

drag mig


 

[1] „Dregur“ sbr. Ljóđaljóđin 1, 4.