I Feel Sorry for Jesus

 

People won’t leave Him alone.
I know He said, wherever two or more
are gathered in my name…
but I’ll bet some days He regrets it.

Cozily they tell you what He wants
and doesn’t want
as if they just got an e-mail.
Remember ‘Telephone’, that pass-it-on game

where the message changed dramatically
by the time it rounded the circle?
Well.
People blame terrible pieties on Jesus.

They want to be his special pet.
Jesus deserves better.
I think He’s been exhausted
for a very long time.

He went into the desert, friends.
He didn’t go into the pomp.
He didn’t go into
the golden chandeliers

and say, the truth tastes better here.
See? I’m talking like I know.
It’s dangerous talking for Jesus.
You get carried away almost immediately.

I stood in the spot where He was born.
I closed my eyes where He died and didn’t die.
Every twist of the Via Dolorosa
was written on my skin.

And that makes me feel like being silent
for Him, you know? A secret pouch
of listening. You won’t hear me
mention this again.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

(Stock photo of the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem).

Over the Weather

 

We forget about the spaciousness
above the clouds

but it’s up there. The sun’s up there too.

When words we hear don’t fit the day,
when we worry
what we did or didn’t do,
what if we close our eyes,
say any word we love
that makes us feel calm,
slip it into the atmosphere
and rise?

Creamy miles of quiet.
Giant swoop of blue.

--Naomi Shihab Nye

[Flying to Iceland, Feb. 2020]

For Beauty

 

As stillness in stone to silence is wed, 
May solitude foster your truth in word.

As a river flows in ideal sequence, 

May your soul reveal where time is presence.

As the moon absolves the dark of distance, 

May your style of thought bridge the indifference.

As the breath of light awakens color, 

May the dawn anoint your eyes with wonder.

As spring rain softens the earth with surprise, 

May your winter places be kissed by light.

As the ocean dreams to the joy of dance, 

May the grace of change bring you elegance.

As clay anchors a tree in light and wind, 

May your outer life grow from peace within.

As twilight pervades the belief of night, 

May beauty sleep lightly within your heart.

--John O'Donohue

[Beauty of a sunset over a dancing ocean; May 2023, Dunedin, FL].

When I am Among the Trees

 

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

--Mary Oliver

[Spring trees in the fog that are "filled with light" and "shine".]