Be Quiet
Van Gogh, Wheat Fields After Rain, 1890
I want to share this morning a poem I’ve written. It’s not an essay. It’s a poem. There’s a difference. I confess I’ve not written a poem for some thirty years. I used to write them all the time. And I taught lots of poetry. I apologize to some of the poets on my blog list. Some of you even took a few of those classes with me. Bear with me. I’m a bit rusty.
But somehow this morning, with so many of Mary Oliver’s poems floating around after the documentary last week, and maybe mostly on the days following the death of the beloved Wendell Berry, who shaped some of my view on writing and living, and then, of course listening again to Dolly Parton these last few days—well, I simply had to write what’s on my heart. I turned to poetry. Of course I just had to add one of my favorite Van Gogh paintings, Wheat Fields After Rain, painted in 1890, the year of his death. I’m looking for quiet. I’m looking for peace that will allow a glimpse of clarity in our uncertain world. I’m looking for beauty that will shine through like a jewel when things are often so ugly.
It all adds up to my longing these days for something deeper. It’s a longing to find more quiet, a deeper quiet, somewhere at the levels where God resides, those levels where Jesus offers rest. Somehow I know he invites me into this place of quiet, but with so much noise going on, in our world, and in my own mind, too often I can’t hear him speak. I yearn to hear Jesus say again to me in my noisy little space, early in the morning, “Peace is my parting gift to you, my own peace, such as the world cannot give. Set your troubled hearts at rest, and banish your fears.” John 14:27 (REB)
That’s what my poem is all about. I hope you find it helpful. In my poem I am quoting the Jesus Prayer, which I am reciting these days as a part of my prayer practice. Some of you may know about this rich, ancient tradition. And my word to you this morning is keep reading Mary Oliver and Wendel Berry and listening to Dolly Parton. We need these voices in our world of noise. And somehow we need to be quiet enough to hear that ultimate voice of Jesus promising his very own peace. And we need poems to help us hear and see all of this.
So here’s my poem. May it bring you some new measure of quiet and peace this morning.
Be Quiet
“Be quiet,” I say to myself, when the night is deep
and I cannot sleep, “just be quiet.” I say it out loud.
When will my mind ever grow calm again? Is it the world?
Is it just me? Will my mind ever rest again,
as when a child, I climbed high up the eucalyptus tree.
I would gaze in silence over the barley fields,
over the cattle munching their straw. When close to them,
I could hear their munching, breaking out
over the quiet fields.
Early in the morning I try to be quiet like this,
again, like a child, silent, calm. “Lord Jesus Christ,”
I say over and over, “have mercy
on me.” I say those words just as the old monks
have said them through so many years.
And then I remember Jesus saying, as if talking
to me this morning, “go into your room by yourself,
shut your door, grow quiet.” And then,
“don’t be surprised if I walk right in, breaking
the silence, saying, don’t be afraid, I’ve come
to bring you peace.”
I sometimes hear him say these very words
in these early hours before
the new light breaks into my room.
Written by Phil Eaton