Love this poem by Jessica Powers. “That God made birds is surely in his favor.”
Birds
Category: Sunday poems
Just pay attention
A few good words from Mary Oliver about prayer.
Praying
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
Mary Oliver
Beginning with Beloved
I have been a fan of Jan Richardson’s poetry ever since I discovered—somehow—her Book of Blessings for the Seasons, Circle of Grace, and I have indeed circled back to it over and over. And indeed beloved is where it all begins for Jesus, and consequently for us, and ends. We are in him the beloved of the Father. It really takes one’s breath away.
Beginning with Beloved
A Blessing
Begin here:
Beloved.
Is there any other word
needs saying,
any other blessing
could compare
with this name,
this knowing?
Beloved.
Comes like a mercy
to the ear that has never
heard it.
Comes like a river
to the body that has never
seen such grace.
Beloved.
Comes holy
to the heart
aching to be new.
Comes healing
to the soul
wanting to begin
again.
Beloved.
Keep saying it
and though it may
sound strange at first,
watch how it becomes
part of you,
how it becomes you,
as if you never
could have known yourself
anything else,
as if you could ever
have been other
than this:
Beloved.
–Jan Richardson
The present moment
We, as a religious community, celebrate Christmas for 40 days, so I will be sharing a few Sunday Christmas poems during this season. The first is by Sally Read from her collection, Dawn of this Hunger. A beautiful description of the unique bond between Mary and her Christ-child, but with a word for us as well.
Incarnation
From the remotest dawn, from a yellow eye,
sharper than the eagle’s, that sees each one of us
scuttling in the shadow of a protective wing,
he falls to Earth—blind. Those first nights
the short distance between her breast and face
is as far as he can see. She is his first sight
of the world as man—our one pure sign.
She only knows his Christ-eyes latching
onto hers as fiercely as his gums clamp down
for milk. The future scrabbles, gnaws like rats
through a barn’s corners and its eaves.
But she is transfixed by his skin and insistence
on her as the only visible, only beautiful thing—
the present moment; this is the first lesson of prayer.
Incarnation
We, as a religious community, celebrate Christmas for 40 days, so I will be sharing a few Sunday Christmas poems during this season. The first is by Sally Read from her collection, Dawn of this Hunger. A beautiful description of the unique bond between Mary and her Christ-child, but with a word for us as well.
Incarnation
From the remotest dawn, from a yellow eye,
sharper than the eagle’s, that sees each one of us
scuttling in the shadow of a protective wing,
he falls to Earth—blind. Those first nights
the short distance between her breast and face
is as far as he can see. She is his first sight
of the world as man—our one pure sign.
She only knows his Christ-eyes latching
onto hers as fiercely as his gums clamp down
for milk. The future scrabbles, gnaws like rats
through a barn’s corners and its eaves.
But she is transfixed by his skin and insistence
on her as the only visible, only beautiful thing—
the present moment; this is the first lesson of prayer.
As when in a crowd
I have SO many Advent poems I would like to share. I just reread this one from an “art” journal that I keep, this one for Advent. I don’t remember when I discovered her poetry but she soon became a favorite. May your “long waiting light” increase and increase through this beautiful season.
Advent Visitation
Today’s Sunday poem is in memoriam of Luci Shaw, God rest her soul.
Come Soon
This first Sunday of Advent, I thought I would share this lovely sonnet by Hazel Littlefield Smith. Hazel was born not too far from where I was raised in Michigan and spent her last years in Ann Arbor. She and her husband were missionaries in China for thirteen years during the “reign of the War Lords”. I love this sentence from her obituary: “Mrs. Smith never lost touch with the Michigan woods she loved so dearly.” I’m not sure where I came upon this poem of hers, but it seems perfect for the beginning of Advent.
Come Soon
I set my candle where the shadows loom,
A flame of faith between the eyes of fate,
And I am waiting in the windy gloom;
O come, my Love, for it is growing late.
Small doubts on darkling wings flit here and there
Uncertainly in the grey, lingering light,
Mysterious music haunts the troubled air,
And none but you can comfort me tonight.
I wait upon the moment’s hazard now;
Is there no power can hold the darkness back
Until you come? I do not disavow
Your promised love—the one thing I most lack.
The hour is late, dear Love, come soon, come soon;
Then shall the night be lovelier than noon.
I will remind you
As we near the end of the liturgical year and the Sunday readings are more and more about judgment, I find myself remembering little Thérèse’s thoughts about God’s judgment: “What a sweet joy it is to think that God is Just, i.e., that He takes into account our weakness, that He is perfectly aware of our fragile nature. What should I fear then? Ah! must not the infinitely just God, who deigns to pardon the faults of the prodigal son with so much kindness, be just also toward me who “am with Him always?” (Luke 15:31)
We must remember the mercy and love that drove Jesus to come to us then and to still come to us at every moment. Gregory of Narek gives us the example of boldly reminding Christ of his total love for us.
Refuge for my broken spirit lies in your
living, incorruptible, constant hope,
that looking on me with mercy,
as one condemned to perdition,
when I present myself before our heavenly beneficence,
empty-handed and without gifts,
brining with me the evidence of your untold glory,
I will remind you
who never slumbers in forgetfulness,
who never shuts your eyes,
never ignores the sighs of grief,
That with your cross of light
you may lift away from me, I beg you, the peril that chokes me,
with your comforting care, the vacillating sadness,
with your crown of thorns, the germs of my sin,
with the lashes of the whip, the blows of death,
with the memory of the slap in the face, the neediness of my shame,
with the spitting of your enemies, my contemptible vileness,
with your sip of vinegar, the bitterness of my soul.
Glimmers a world
A poem from Anthony Esolen for our Sunday poem this week. Anthony is one of the finest contemporary poets I have come across. If you haven’t read his The Hundredfold, do so.
O Lord, our Lord how wonderful is Thy name in all the earth!
I love Thy words, O Lord, and always shall:
The fresh sun shining forth in brash delight,
Then blushing gently in his evening fall
Like a youth from a dance; the deeps of night
Swaying the pilgrim spirit to behold
A sea powdered with stars, all life and light
Sprung from the Ancient One who is not old,
Given to man the Child. So from above
Glimmers a world of glory manifold,
And my return is gratitude and love.
Witnesses to Hope 