The season of Lent is a time for us to reflect on the simplicity of life – and to reflect on our own mortality. To think about how fragile the gift of breath, the gift of life, really is. This feels like an especially stark lesson for our community of faith this year. In these first three months of 2022, we have bid an earthly farewell to so many of the faithful pillars of our church. In March alone, Pastor Brandon and I have officiated six memorial services. Truly, this has been a Lenten season in which we have had much opportunity to reflect on the fleetingness of life.
In our Lenten study on the poetry of Mary Oliver, this is a theme that has come up nearly each week that we have gathered for discussion – some aspect of our scripture or our poem has turned our attention to the rhythms of the natural world – ancient rhythms of giving and receiving, of losing and saving, of holding on and of letting go. For our devotional today, I invite you to join us on that journey. Begin by reading Mark 8:27-38, letting its words wash over you. Then, slowly read throw the poem below. Read it more than once, if you like, and let it saturate your soul. What connections do you see between the scripture and the poem? Is there a phrase or line that is especially striking for you today? What images or emotions are brought up for you as you read? May the Holy Spirit speak to us all.
In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.