Fresh Eyes

Recently, I have been so overwhelmed by the revelations about our church, I decided to focus on what kind of church I – and maybe you – might really want. Like many of you, however, I am just a layperson, and I know there are many who have more studied and wise ideas on the subject. But I – perhaps like you – wanted to start the process afresh, with insights based on my own reflections, before I let myself be too influenced by others’ points of view. We are Church and so I say let’s start, humbly, with ourselves.

When I want new perspectives, I often begin with poetry. I think it helps us see the world with fresh eyes. I chose this particular poem because it seemed relevant to starting any process and because it is written by a woman, effectively representing the influence and leadership and guidance and wisdom our Church so desperately needs. Try applying the words and images below to our past – and perhaps future – experience with the Church.

Engraving: World-Tree With An Empty Beehive On One Branch

by Jane Hirshfield

A too beautiful view rejects the mind.

It is like a person with a garrulous mouth but no ears.

When Basho finished his months of walking,

he took off his used-up sandals,

let them fall.

One turned into the scent of withered chrysanthemum,

the other walked out of the story.

It’s only after you notice an ache that you know it must always have been there.

As an actor is there, before he steps in from the wing.

Another of Basho’s haiku:

a long-weathered skull, through whose eyes grow tall, blowing grasses.

They look now into a photograph,

a scraped field in France, September 1916:

men bending, smoking, gleaning the harrowed rucksacks for letters.

War, walking, chrysanthemum, sandal, wheat field, bee smoke of camera lens, war.

They’re in our past, yet we just keep traveling toward them, then away,

carrying with us the remnant, salvageable,

refugee honey.

Let us, who often feel like refugees within our own Church, carry this honey with us.