Beloved Is Where We Begin
Lent and Easter are mysterious seasons. Lent calls us to honest self-reflection, something that our egos often rebel against, and to a period of self-denial, something that our highly consumeristic culture cannot abide. Meanwhile, Easter calls us to recognize the finitude of death, that resurrection is written into the very fabric of the universe, and that we witness it every time new buds sprout on a branch that has lain barren for a season.
These are profoundly mysterious seasons. And yet, I often fear that our familiarity with their annual observance has dulled our sense of wonder for them. Perhaps we have domesticated them and stripped them of their wonder.
This week, I want to use poetry to explore Lent with all of you. Poetry is such a great medium for exploring the mysteries of our faith because it is not so much something to be understood or solved as something to be experienced. Poetry strips away the convention of language and leaves its reader with an impression rather than a description. Poetry’s goal is less to have you learn something than to have you feel something. That’s what I’d like us to practice this week. I can try to explain some of the mysteries of faith, but I’d much rather help you feel them instead.
To begin our journey, here is a poetic blessing written by Jan Richardson:
“And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
-Matthew 3:17
Beloved is Where We Begin
If you would enter
into the wilderness
do not begin
without a blessing.
Do not leave
without hearing
who you are:
Beloved,
named by the One
who has traveled this path
before you.
Do not go
without letting it echo
in your ears,
and if you find
it is hard
to let it into your heart,
do not despair.
That is what
this journey is for.
I cannot promise
this blessing will free you
from danger,
from fear,
or thirst,
from the scorching
of sun
or the fall
of the night.
But I can tell you
that on this way
there will be rest.
I can tell you
that you will know
the strange graces
that come to our aid
only on a road
such as this,
that fly to meet us
bearing comfort
and strength,
that come alongside us
for no other cause
than to lean themselves
toward our ear
and with their
curious insistence
whisper our name:
Beloved.
Beloved.
Beloved.
Rev. Ryan Young
