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
