poetry, silence, prayer and resistance...

"I'm not very good at praying, but what I experience when I'm writing a poem is close to prayer. I feel it in different degrees and not with every poem. But in certain ways writing is a form of prayer."

                                                                                             Denise Levertov

One of the scripture readings for this morning includes Revelations 8, a sobering and symbolic prose poem about God's judgment prior to the creation of a new heaven and a new earth. Before the apocalyptic images are unfurled, however, the biblical text says, "When the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour." What an odd little sentence to include in Scripture - silence in heaven - and we could easily overlook it in favor of the grandeur that follows. But, as T.S. Elliot observed in "The Rock", what would be lost by filling silence with sound and fury?

O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.

Like Denise Levertov, I too find poetry to be a prayer of sorts. At the very least, poems are a prelude to prayer for me. And silence. This morning, after sitting with the Scriptures in silence and wondering what the Gospel's challenge that "Unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required; and to whom (those) have committed much, of (them) will much be asked" (Luke 12:48) might mean for me: I read Levertov's "Flickering Mind."

Lord, not you
it is I who am absent.
At first
belief was a joy I kept in secret,
stealing alone
into sacred places:
a quick glance, and away -- and back,
circling.
I have long since uttered your name
but now
I elude your presence.
I stop
to think about you, and my mind
at once
like a minnow darts away,
darts
into the shadows, into gleams that fret
unceasing over
the river's purling and passing.
Not for one second
will my self hold still, but wanders
anywhere,
everywhere it can turn. Not you,
it is I am absent.
You are the stream, the fish, the light,
the pulsing shadow.
You the unchanging presence, in whom all
moves and changes.
How can I focus my flickering, perceive
at the fountain's heart
the sapphire I know is there?

I sat with this for 20 quiet minutes while my monkey mind came and went. I considered those closest and dearest to me: how can the trust I have been given be honored? Nurtured? Strengthened? I let their names and faces swim through my silent thoughts. As is often true, tears of gratitude and some regret followed. I couldn't help but think of the character James Spader plays on the NBC TV show, "Blacklist." When a young colleague speaks of regret, Spader smirks and says, "You're too young to know regret. That only comes with age." Too true. To those to whom much has been given, much is required.

Especially in these crazy, sad, beautiful and frightening days. Fr. Daniel Berrigan wrote of Levertov's commitment to poetry, silence and the cause of peace and justice: "Our options [in a tremulous world], as they say, are no longer large. . . . [We] may choose to do nothing; which is to say, to go discreetly or wildly mad, letting fear possess us and frivolity rule our days. Or we may, along with admirable spirits like Denise Levertov, be driven sane; by community, by conscience, by treading the human crucible." (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/denise-levertov)

Practicing silence through the prayers of poetry grounds me in grace. It shocks me into compassion and anger, too and this is as it should be. Like they say on Facebook: If you aren't enraged right now you aren't paying attention! A wise friend from my early days in ministry recently wrote: 

What Trotsky wrote about fascism in 1933 seems vividly appropriate today: "capitalist society is puking up the undigested barbarism." All that is and has been vile about US history, politics, and culture is now out in the open. We pray and work for peace, knowing that this poison is NOT of truth, or love, or wisdom, or LIFE. We know that God is Just -- and that this Land WILL be cleansed of its sin and sorrow. May God also be merciful.

In many ways I believe the vulgar and viscous politics of this season needed to be exposed to the light. It is the only way they can be named, owned, repented and then healed. Like an infection, the disease of our fear and hatred needs fresh air, light and cleansing - and many of us have hidden in privilege and naiveté for too long. With my flickering mind and wayward attention span, I need silence to stay grounded. I know it is going to get much, much worse before it gets any better. So silence empowers me to stay engaged. And attentive to what I can do best trusting the rest to God's care. What about you?

credits
+ https://www.deviantart.com/korintic/art/the-Four-Horsemen-of-the-Apocalypse-277487008
+ https://www.ebsqart.com/Art-Galleries/Spiritual-Art/39/Silent-Prayer/191779/
+ Karen Lattimore, La Sagrada Familia @ http://subcreators.com/blog/2017/02/26/yes-the-holy-family-really-were-refugees-part-ii/