A reader e-mailed to say that he had had a hard day, dealing with a friend’s betrayal. And then he read a new poem by Owen White, ‘On Opening a Box of Old Icons’. Said he, “God’s mercy is so great.”

Yes. Owen has recently returned to Orthodoxy, and is undergoing a public and, to my eyes, extraordinarily beautiful and moving, repentance and renewal. Here is how his poem begins:

Live in fragments no longer. Only connect.
– E.M. Forster, from Howards End.

The box sat in the attic,
the higher up attic of the two,
for twenty five months.

I brought it down to our room,
window open for the first time this year.

The funeral garb of cardboard and packing tape and wadded up papers is torn off gently.
My hand reaches for the cylindrical old hand towel, which protects
a bottle of rose water.

Its glass is cold,
left in an unheated far corner of an old farmhouse
through two and a half Wisconsin winters.
It shows no signs of having been frozen,
but to touch it stings a bit.
This is a winter cold, not a spring one.
Upon the twist of the cap – immediate contrast.
The fragrance shines into my nostrils the warmth of Lebanon,
where the contents of this bottle were distilled and poured.
The chill of its glass on my hand accuses my nose of lies.
Fair enough, I have followed false scents before.

I dab the Arab warmth onto a rag and begin.

Please, read the whole thing. It is beautiful, and deeply moving. All we know is that all of this has something to do with the recent death of Father Matthew Baker, a terrible event that in some mysterious way released healing grace into Owen’s life.

Rejoice. God’s mercy is so great. No matter how prodigal you have been, you can always return. Tis the season, after all. In How Dante Can Save Your Life, I tell the story about how after not being able to reach my father’s home, the pain of falling short, and the shock of grace delivered me unexpectedly to the home of the only Father who can give unconditional love. From the book:

Reading Dante had unearthed the torment that had dogged me throughout my religious life. I had never believed that God loved me. Oh, I knew on an abstract level that he loved me, because he is God, and God is supposed to love his creatures. It’s his duty. But I knew that I disappointed him. I was not the son he really wanted.

When I was a Protestant, I didn’t believe that God loved me. When I was a Catholic, I didn’t believe it. and now that I was Orthodox, I still didn’t believe it. Not really. To affirm it in your mind, as I did, is not the same thing as taking it into your heart.

At last I knew why this had been impossible for me. As my father was on earth, so was my father in heaven. He was so good, strong, and wise that his judgment on my worth (as I perceived it) must be true. If only I could make myself perfect, maybe he would accept me.

There it was. The lie, unveiled.

Read the whole thing on April 14.