Down (and maybe across) to Heaven

Mother Teresa once said that if she ever was made a saint she probably would not stay in heaven very long - the temptation to keep returning to help the poor would just be too great. I have always thought that about Jesus as well.  I really cannot comprehend a Jesus who sits on a throne in heaven while the white horse and the cloud stand by, ready to whisk Jesus in at the final judgement.  No, Jesus is right here today.   And I have no doubt that each of us has been Jesus at least once for someone else.  Yes, that is strong love.  Such potency is exactly what God created us for.      

  

Last year a good friend introduced me to this poem entitled The Truelove by David Whyte.  I love the image of the old man saying his prayer to the turbulent Jesus hidden in the water.  I am reminded of an old woman Tyler and I met years ago in Mendocino.  We passed her as she was making her way to the cliffs overlooking the ocean.  She was quite bent, and as she passed I noticed that the back of her much worn lime green jacket was so bleached by wind and sun that was almost the color of dried bones.  I believe the elements had been having their way with her for some time, but she seemed quite content with that. While I know that the temptation to romanticize the sea, Jesus, and old age is great, today they seem one in the same to me.   

 

This poem is long, so you may not have time to read it at this very moment, but I encourage you to do so when you can. In the meantime, I pray that each of you knows that you belong and that if times are turbulent, you will take a look to see who might be waiting for you in the midst of it all.    

   

The Truelove

There is a faith in loving fiercely 

the one who is rightfully yours, 

especially if you have 

waited years and especially 

if part of you never believed

you could deserve this 

loved and beckoning hand 

held out to you this way. 

 

I am thinking of faith now

and the testaments of loneliness

and what we feel we are 

worthy of in this world.  

 

Years ago in the Hebrides

I remember an old man 

who walked every morning 

on the grey stones

to the shore of the baying seals,

 

who would press his hat 

to his chest in the blustering 

salt wind and say his prayer 

to the turbulent Jesus 

hidden in the water, 

 

and I think of the story 

of the storm and everyone

waking and seeing 

the distant 

yet familiar figure 

far across the water 

calling to them, 

 

and how we are all 

preparing for that 

abrupt waking, 

and that calling, 

and that moment 

we have to say yes, 

except it will 

not come so grandly, 

so Biblically, 

but more subtly 

and intimately in the face

of the one you know 

you have to love, 

   

so that when we finally step out of the boat

toward them, we find 

everything holds 

us, and confirms

our courage, and if you wanted 

to drown you could, 

but you don't 

 

because finally 

after all the struggle 

and all the years, 

you don't want to any more, 

you've simply had enough

of drowning 

and you want to live and you 

want to love and you will 

walk across any territory 

and any darkness, 

however fluid and however 

dangerous, to take the 

one hand you know 

belongs in yours.