and giving me reason to slow down,
to listen more carefully,
to pay attention, for God’s sake,
to what is happening around me,
within me.
Poetry nourishes me.
I have discovered that committing a poem to memory deepens the work that it does in my soul,
and I am also discovering that I am best able to make a poem my own by memorizing while walking.
Something about the rhythm of my footfalls on the path, steady, one and then another, gives the words a place to lodge in my mind and body.
And I’m even more sure that it’s got me, pulled me in, wrapped itself around my heart. It whispers in my ear at the oddest times, snippets of lines...."the Maker of the stars was....born!?!" and I taste its goodness as I roll the words back and forth in my mouth.
I commend it to you in its beauty and simplicity- notice that in this twenty line poem the poet has used fewer than twenty multisyllable words.
I commend it to you in its sharp truth - a tarnished world of sin and doubt...of anguished shame. That's all too accurate.
I commend it to you in its breathtaking hope - He came and his Light. would. not. go. out. Ponder that hope on dark days.
I commend it to you in its challenge- He did not wait, did not wait, did not wait, nor can we. Exactly because our world is just as she describes it, we cannot wait to sing out the joy of this truth - Love came, oh yes he did.
(I’m not asking anyone to memorize it with me, but if you do you’ll be richer for the effort. At least, take time to read it - aloud - a few times. You won’t be sorry.)
by Madeleine L’Engle
He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.
He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait
till hearts were pure. In joy he came
To a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came and his Light would not go out.
He came to a world that which did not mesh,
To heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
The Maker of the stars was born.
We cannot wait till the world is sane
To raise our songs with joyful voice,
For to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!