Evils done on our behalf… Sometimes, though beautifully written, general confessions are not enough. In a sense, these words from the Book of Common Prayer cover the bases nicely: we have sinned against thee in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved thee with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. They are followed... Read more

Recognition and epiphany Lately I keep coming back to Hopkins’ lovely line, “Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in eyes, lovely in limbs not his….”  It helps me look a little more closely and be a little more watchful for moments of recognition.  And it has sent me back to the Gospel of John with its core question: Who is this man? Jesus baffles his disciples, his adversaries, the crowds, the people he chooses to heal, even his family. Time... Read more

“The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” These are Jesus’ words to a very puzzled Nicodemus.” The phrase “born of the Spirit” takes time to grasp and live into. But wind is a palpable, knowable experience. We can’t see it, but we see its effects with no trouble. In both Greek and... Read more

Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori “It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country.” The Roman poet Horace wrote this line, but many of us first encountered it in Wilfred Owen’s poem about soldiers in World War I, “coughing like hags,” many of whom “had lost their boots, / but limped on, bloodshod,” with “incurable sores on innocent tongues.” Among the many 20th-century poems written to urge us into awareness of the costs of war, this one... Read more

Weep with those who weep Tears come at odd times. They don’t always come at the funeral, or at the site of the accident, or when a child is in pain. Sometimes they come days later, triggered by something as banal as a commercial or the words to a song on the radio. They come when I am, for reasons I can’t fully account for, ready to cry. I didn’t weep at the moment my mother died, though I was... Read more

  Suffer the little children Most of us who grew up with the King James Bible learned the antique form of the verse, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” The words are a little jarring to modern ears; putting “little children” and “suffer” in the same sentence works as at least a subliminal reminder of how many little children do suffer—from preventable diseases, from abuse, from... Read more

Could I have a word? Or maybe two or three? Or, if you’re feeling lavish, a sentence? I’ve been thinking about the value of short messages. Often I don’t write people because I don’t have time to write the long, reflective, meandering letter (or e-mail) complete with amusing anecdotes and appropriate quotes. So feeling chronically “behind” or remiss in maintaining friendships is a source of frustration and sadness for me. I want to love my friends well. But more days... Read more

getting the news from poems I mostly write prose these days, but now and then a poem comes, and when it does I welcome it, as any of us should when that heppens. Seeds of poems come when they are sent, and our work is to tend to them–to make something of the moment when a phrase or an image falls into our path and we pick it up and begin to play. Poems sometimes tug at my sleeve when personal... Read more

loving listening The word in Latin for obey, obedire, oboedire also meant pay attention to, give ear, literally “listen to,” from ob “to” and audire “listen, hear.” When we listen we obey the call of the moment, the call to attention. We turn; we leave other occupations behind. We make ourselves available. As some put it, we lend our ears.  Or a shoulder to cry on. But offering an ear or a shoulder is just a small part of it. Good listening is... Read more

Where we walk I just got back from a morning walk under skies, far from home, that are threatening a thunderstorm, in just enough wind to feel fully awakened (completing what coffee had failed quite to accomplish). Layers of birdsong—more than I’m used to hearing in our more urban habitat—surrounded us like a thicket of sound. The sun was rising “a ribbon at a time” through the clouds. The air seemed charged with energy, and walking through it for 20... Read more