For over a decade I’ve been signing a good deal of my personal correspondence with the word Pax, which is Latin for peace. I had seen it embossed in gold on thick, creme note cards when I was in Florence and it took hold of me somehow. I never made the connection until just this morning with the poem of the same name that I discovered when I was working on The Renaissance Service, a one-of-a-kind vespers that looked to the arts as a window to the divine. This short verse by D. H. Lawrence seems like the perfect anthem for these slow, nesting days that lead us deeper into winter and ever closer to Him.
All that matters is to be at one with the living God
To be a creature in the house of the God of Life.
Like a cat asleep on a chair
at peace, in peace
and at one with the master of the house, with the
at home, at home in the house of the living,
sleeping on the hearth, and yawning before the fire.
Sleeping on the hearth of the living world,
yawning at home before the fire of life
feeling the presence of the living God
like a great reassurance
a deep calm in the heart
as of a master sitting at the board
in his own and greater being,
in the house of life.
May your heart know pax this day