Easter: Now the green blade riseth

Now the green blade riseth

from the buried gain,


wheat that in dark earth


many days has lain;


love lives again,
 that with the dead has been:


Love is come again like wheat that springs up green.

In the grave they laid him,


Love whom hate had slain,


thinking that never


he would wake again,


laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen:


Love is come again like wheat that springs up green.

Forth he came in quiet,


like the risen grain,


he that for three days


in the grave had lain,


quick from the dead
 the risen Christ is seen:


Love is come again like wheat that springs up green.

When our hearts are wintry,


grieving, or in pain,


Christ's touch can call us


back to life again,


fields of our hearts 
that dead and bare have been:


Love is come again like wheat that springs up green.

(You can listen to this song here in a lovely medieval-ish rendition.)

“It was no accident, no coincidence, that the seasons came round and round year after year. It was the Lord speaking to us all and showing us over and over again the birth, life, death, and resurrection of his only begotten Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ, our Lord. It was like a best-loved story being told day after day with each sunrise and sunset, year after year with the seasons, down through the ages since time began.”

― Francine Rivers, The Last Sin Eater

(I don't think I have any pictures of wheat growing, but this is a field I see regularly that is bare and muddy and ugly during the winter and then suddenly bursts into bloom!)

Poetry in Unexpected Places

We went to the Spring Art Walk on Broad Avenue last night. I used to work on Broad Avenue, and at that time my friends would say on hearing about my new counseling job, "Are you sure you want to work there? Aren't you scared? Are you sure it's safe?"

After a horribly tragic shooting that killed several members of a family not far from our building, my boss forbade my usual habit of walking the two blocks down the street between our place and the clinic we were associated with. If I had to go, I had to drive. Just to be safe.

That was over five years ago. In the meantime, a lot has been happening in that part of town. Good stuff happening. Good people making things happen. Things are changing.

Last night we went with friends to that very same Broad Avenue, a little further down the street. We visited art galleries, a just-opening bakery, a paint-your-own-furniture store. We talked with artists, ministers, a man who helps folks in the city learn how to keep their chickens to have fresh eggs. We heard live music. We saw smiles and heard laughter. Nothing felt unsafe.

A young man was sitting in a chair on the sidewalk with a typewriter in his lap. A sign held up by a friend said, "Personal Poem Written Just for You." It intrigued me, so we stopped and asked. He said, You tell me about yourself, and I write a poem. I asked about the cost. He said, Whatever you decide. After you read it, you can pay me what you want.

So we gave him about two minutes' worth of information (or less) about us, and in a few minutes, here is what he gave us. It fits so well with this that I have to share it:

We stood there and read it in the streetlight. I was impressed. We paid him.

I asked what kind of typerwriter he had. An Underwood! I said, "I'm an Underwood myself!" (It's my maiden name.)

I asked him about himself. You can learn some of what he told us here. I said I might have to write a poem about him.

He asked if we'd be willing to take a picture of the poem later and email it to him. He's working on a book. I said we would.

I said to my man, as we walked down the street as the sun began to set, "I never thought I'd be walking down this street for fun."

And I'm saying to myself right now, "I never thought I'd find poetry on Broad Street."

And then I'm thinking of all the people who sat on the couch in my office, and I said, "Tell me about yourself." And they did. I heard stories I could not hear anywhere else. Hard stories, stories of suffering and pain and courage and endurance. Stories I can never publish but never forget.

They would ask about the cost, and within a certain range I was able to say, "You pay what you can." And we didn't write poetry, though I did take notes. And I heard stories and met people and learned about lives that could make a book. I learned about the battlefields of many lives, and I give thanks for all those days, and all those years. They left a living poetry in my heart.

And I'm happy to see light and joy on Broad Avenue.

Thank you, Adam, for the poetry.

White and Light

Amazing to me, to have such blooms at the end of November. It seemed a little miracle of beauty in the kitchen window of our gracious hostess.

And the light coming onto them and through them intensified the miracle.

And so I had to take a picture.

Just to remember.

I love what light does.

Eyes to See

I love it when I just happen into a room at the right time to catch something like this. And it lasts only a moment, which makes catching it that much more special.

....Okay, this is almost twilight zone-y. I wanted to say something profound about how we so often don't see beauty, or meaning, or just something special, because we aren't looking for it. Because we are in a hurry, or because we are so focused on other things.

Not feeling terribly inspired, I turned to Google, hoping to find some appropriate quote to help me out. I was thinking of Jesus' occasional comments about having ears to hear, and I knew he had spoken about seeing, as well. I entered "eyes to see," wondering what I might find.

The seventh entry (skipping images) that came up was from my own spiritual director's blog, and it was an entry that I had not "caught" back when he posted it. But it says so well what I was thinking about.

I share most of it here:

The tragedy is how often we fail to "see" what we see. Our eyes and hearts cannot penetrate the mystery. we are weary and distracted. Our senses dulled and our spirits diminished. There is a glorious reality which our sight does not penetrate. O for the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the heart to know and worship and obey. Reading Chapter 4 of the Revelation (literally, "the unveiling") was a reminder that we live in a world much richer than we can imagine. In praying and opening ourselves to God the heavenly worship going on all around us can be discerned.

We modern people live in an age of radio and tv. We know, even if we do not think about it, that programs are swirling all about us at every moment of each day. Right now the room in which you sit has songs which cannot be heard, games which cannot be watched, programs which cannot be enjoyed, because you are not tuned in. With a radio or tv you can suddenly enjoy these and more. Our faith and spirituality work the same way. we can hear the unheard angel choirs with faith, we can understand the voice of God by listening, we can know the truth, that God is in His heaven and all is (will be) right with the world.

Today I am more aware. As my son said in class, "Church is boring when we aren't paying attention." Wisdom! When we are attentive and giving ourselves, we might catch a peak into the glory that surrounds us. I pray that all of you had that sort of experience today in your place of worship. Now we begin a new week, a chance to pray, to study Scripture, to serve in His Name---a chance to prepare again for the Sunday gathering!

(And it even happens to be Sunday as I write.)

You can find the rest of it, and other great things to read, here