2 cents worth of poetry

INTRODUCTION

The title of my reflections for today is, “2 Cents Worth of Poetry.”

I figure I have preached on today’s readings at least 15 times - that's 45 years. Yesterday afternoon and last night as I reflected on the readings, I got the thought, “What would it be like to look for poems that touch on some of the thoughts and feelings of the readings - especially the first reading and the gospel which talk about tiny things and tiny people?”

I hesitated because sometimes what I think is interesting is not other people’s cup of tea. People come to church for a good word - an inspiration - a challenge - and poetry can be esoteric or not what people need on a Sunday morning.

Then I noticed in the first reading these words from Elijah the Prophet to the widow of Zarephath, “Do not be afraid. Go and do as you propose.” [Cf. First Book of Kings 17: 10-16]

SO

So looking at the readings I looked for poems that touch on the way Jesus sees - or at least as I think Jesus sees and thinks at different times.

In today’s gospel [Mark 12: 38-44] everyone is seeing the big contributors to the temple collection and treasury. Jesus sees the poor widow who puts in her 2 cents. Jesus then says she gave more than all the rest - because she gave from her poverty - and they gave from their surplus.

In today’s gospel Jesus tells his disciples to “Beware of the scribes - who like to go around in long robes and accept greetings in marketplaces, seats of honor in synagogues, and places of honor at banquets.”  

As a priest in long robes I get the thought, “Thanks a lot Jesus!” 

As priest I get greeted lots of times and sometimes get the best seat. Thanks a lot Jesus. 

I got a ticket once for speeding - going 39 MPH - coming down a bridge in New Jersey - with a broken muffler. No excuses. That time I got a ticket and I had my priest collar on.

Jesus also says, “They devour the houses of widows and, as a pretext, recite lengthily prayers.”  I don’t know about the widows, but I have said long prayers and gave long sermons at times. “Thanks a lot Jesus.”

And in today’s first reading from the Book of Kings, we have the story of  the poor widow who has a son. She gives Elijah a little bit of the little she has - and she is rewarded. I love the poetic line, that because of her generosity to Elijah,  “the jar of flour did not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry….”

God seems to notice the little people. We might not - but God does. Yet the little people sometimes say, “Where is God?”

And in the second reading from Hebrews, Jesus is presented as a priest. The author contrasts Jesus to the high priest in the big sanctuary in Jerusalem - who enters the sanctuary with blood that is not his own - but Jesus gives his own blood and his own life in sacrifice to take away our sins.  There is a world of difference between the big temple in Jerusalem - and the ugly dusty hill of Calvary where criminals are crucified. There is a world of difference giving one's own blood compared to a sacrificial animal's blood. [Cf. Hebrews 9:24-28]

To me a theme in these 3 readings is humility. 

It's the theme of smallness - the unexpected - the unnoticed - poverty - emptiness. These are values that we might not want - nor think are important. We tend to want to be noticed or feel important, so we do inflated things - or try to impress others with our things.

So I looked for poems that touch on what Jesus is getting at - when he talks about the scribes with their robes - the teachers with their looking for honors and prestige - the rich with their loud coins and contributions. I looked for a few poems that tell us what the small - the poor - the little folks might be thinking. So here goes.

1) NOBODY BY EMILY DICKINSON

The first poem is by Emily Dickinson - and is a favorite of mine. It’s called, “Nobody.” Ever feel this way?

Nobody

I’m Nobody! Who are you?

Are you  Nobody  - too?

Then there’s a pair of us!

Don’t tell! they’d banish us - you know!

How dreary - to be - Somebody!

How public - like a Frog -

To tell your name - the livelong June -

To an admiring Bog!

2) Ambition BY MORRIS BISHOP

The second poem is “Ambition”. This is for those with big cars and big needs to be ahead of everyone else.

AMBITION

I got pocketed behind 7X-3824;

He was making 65, but I can do a little more.

I crowded him on the curves, but I couldn’t get past,

And on the straightways there was always some truck coming fast.

Then we got to the top of a mile-long incline

And I edged her out to the left, a little over the white line,

And ahead was a long grade with construction at the bottom,

And I said to the wife, ‘Now by golly I got’m!’

I bet I did 85 going down the long grade,

And I braked her down hard in front of the barricade,

And I swung in ahead of him and landed fine

Behind 9W-7679.

3) An Old Jamaican Woman

Thinks About the Hereafter

The third poem is entitled, “An Old Jamaican Woman Thinks About The Hereafter”  by A. L. Hendriks. This poem is for all those want high places here and hereafter. Not everyone thinks that way. Here is another way of thinking.

An Old Jamaican Woman

Thinks About the Hereafter

What would I do forever in a big place, who

have lived all my life in a small island?

The same parish holds the cottage I was born in, all my family, and the cool churchyard.

                  I have looked up at the stars from my front verandah and have been afraid of 
their pathless distances. I have never flown

in the loud aircraft nor have I seen palaces,

so I would prefer not to be taken up high nor

rewarded with a large mansion.

                   I would like

to remain half drowsing through an evening light watching bamboo trees sway and ruffle

for a valley-wind, to remember old times but not to live them again; occasionally to have a good meal with no milk nor honey for I don’t like them, and now and then to walk by the grey sea-beach with two old dogs and watch

men bring up their boats from the water.

                    For all this,

for my hope of heaven, I am willing to forgive my debtors and to love my neighbor ... although the wretch throws stones at my white rooster and makes too much noise in her damn backyard.

4) IN CHURCH

This next poem is entitled, “In Church.”  This is for us priests. It’s by Thomas Hardy who can  be heavy in his writings. This shows a good sense of humor. The vestry is the sacristy where priests vest their vestments. And the vestry-glass is the mirror in the sacristy - so the priest can come out so beautifully.

IN CHURCH

“And now to God the Father,” he ends

And his voice thrills up to the topmost tiles
Each listener pervades the crowded aisles.

Then the preacher glides to the vestry-door,

And shuts it, and thinks he is seen no more.

The door swings softly ajar meanwhile,

And a pupil of his in the Bible class,

Who adores him as one without gloss or guile,

Sees her idol stand with a satisfied smile

And re-enact at the vestry-glass

Each pulpit gesture in deft dumb-show

That had moved the congregation so.

5) AN EPILOGUE

The next poem is by John Masefield. It’s called, “An Epilogue” - and it contains one of the funny surprises of life that humble us.

AN EPILOGUE

I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men

          with ugly faces

And the gold cup won by the

          worst horse at the races,

So I trust, too. 

6) At Becky's Piano Recital

The next poem is entitled, “At Becky’s Piano Recital.”  It’s about the surprises of life - what another person is thinking. It might not be what we’re thinking - especially when we are wrapped up in self.

AT BECKY’S PIANO RECITAL

She screws her face up as she nears the hard parts,
Then beams with relief as she makes it through,
Just as she did listening on the edge of her chair
To the children who played before her,
Wincing and smiling for them
As if she doesn't regard them as competitors
And is free of the need to be first
That vexes many all their lives.
I hope she stays like this,
Her windows open on all sides to a breeze
Pungent with sea spray or meadow pollen.
Maybe her patience this morning at the pond
Was another good sign,
The way she waited for the frog to croak again
So she could find its hiding place and admire it.
There it was, in the reeds, to any casual passerby
Only a fist-sized speckled stone.
All the way home she wondered out loud
What kind of enemies a frog must have
To make it live so hidden, so disguised.
Whatever enemies follow her when she's grown,
Whatever worry or anger drives her at night from her room
To walk in the gusty rain past the town edge,
Her spirit, after an hour, will do what it can
To be distracted by the light of a farmhouse.
What are they doing up there so late,
She'll wonder, then watch in her mind's eye
As the family huddles in the kitchen
To worry if the bank will be satisfied
This month with only half a payment,
If the letter from the wandering son
Really means he's coming home soon.
Even old age won't cramp her
If she loses herself on her evening walk
In piano music drifting from a house
And imagines the upright in the parlor
And the girl working up the same hard passages.

7) MOTHER TO SON

The next poem is by Langston Hughes. It tells you what a poor mom is telling her son   - who doesn’t seem to want to get moving.

MOTHER TO SON

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks on it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor --

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

When there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down in the steps

‘Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now --

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

8) THE CURATES

The next poem is The Curates by John Horder. It fits in with the gospel again - those up front trying to be so up front.

THE CURATES

How impeccably well-dressed they are

These curates!

This one’s whole body

Is spruced up in a sort of corset

The expression on his face, contorted.

At what cost to himself and to others

Does he spend his whole life suppressing his vital energies.
At what a terrible cost.

9) BLUE GIRLS

The last poem is called, “Blue Girls.” It’s by John Crowe Ransom. I don’t know the story behind the poem. It’s about a woman. It seems he sees some teen age school girls. Perhaps they are talking away or seem  self centered on the grounds of their school - called a seminary. The word “sward” is a grassy patch and the word “fillets” are head bands or ribbons holding their lustrous hair.

BLUE GIRLS

Twirling your blue skirts, travelling the sward

Under the towers of your seminary,
Go listen to your teachers old and contrary

Without believing a word.

Tie the white fillets then about your lustrous hair

And think no more of what will come to pass

Than bluebirds that go walking on the grass

And chattering on the air.

Practice your beauty, blue girls, before it fail;

And I will cry with my loud lips and publish

Beauty which all our power shall never establish,

It is so frail.

For I could tell you a story which is true:

I know a lady with a terrible tongue,

Blear eyes fallen from blue

All her perfections tarnished - and yet it is not long

Since she was lovelier than any of you.


NOTES:

Painting on top: The Widow's Mite -2008 - by Liz Lemon Swindle