This morning, I knelt down in the snow
in my favorite place to pray,
a little garden off the side of my porch,
now bare and stark,
where My Lady of Tears keeps her vigil.
And these were the words which came
to me like a prayer … or an answer to one:
You wanted justice, but there isn’t any. There’s the world. Cry for justice, and the stars will stare until your eyes sting. Weep, and enormous winds will thrash the water. Cry in your sleep for your lost children, and snow will fall … snow will fall. You wanted justice, but there is none … only love. God does not love. God is. But we do. We love. That’s the wonder.*
Wise words, I think, for one contemplating the end
of his world.
*paraphrased from Archibald MacLeish’s play, “J.B.”, a modern retelling of the story of Job
My seasonal allergies mean that at those times of the year I most want to be surrounded by nature, it is difficult, and sometimes impossible, to do so. This irony is a metaphor for an essential conflict at the core of my psyche, between the desire for communion with nature on the one hand and the desire to transcend nature on the other.
Love this. I like Archibald McLeish. I discovered him because I bought a copy of the 1964 UU hymnal, and it has a whole section of poetry in it for opening reflections, and one of them is by him. “The Young Soldiers”.