The Holy Fire of Madness and Mercy.
T he Holy Fire of Madness and Mercy. A h, sure, they’ll be callin’ it madness, won’t they? The world’ll scratch its head and whisper about it behind closed doors, but the man in the habit, he’ll be callin’ it clear-mindedness. They’ve a name for it too, the Fathers, they say it’s “sober drunkenness,” the kind of drunkenness that don’t come from the bottle, but from the heart. When the soul tastes the sweetness of God’s love, it’s like being caught in a whirlwind of contradiction. What the world would call daft, grace turns on its head and calls wise. What folks see as a loss, the monk will find, is the very gain of his life. W hen he steps into his cell, don’t go thinkin’ it’s just some tiny, quiet room. Oh no, it’s a place where the heart is squeezed tighter than a grape in the press, till it bursts open, and out pours the sweet wine of repentance and love divine. The door closes, and that’s when the storm begins. He’ll cry, and sure, it’s not just a few tears. It’s like the sea itsel...