Friday, March 22, 2013


A friend just sent us this poem entitled Gethsemane 
by Mary Oliver:

The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.
Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.
The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet, and it sings, 
have you noticed, with its whole body, 
and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.
Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did, maybe the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn't move, maybe, 
the lake far away, where once he walked as on a blue pavement, 
lay still and waited, wild awake.
Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not keep that vigil, how they must have wept, so utterly human, knowing this too must be a part of the story.

In watching and prayer during these last days of Lent, we accompany the Lord in his agony and suffering. But even more we come to understand that it is he after all who is accompanying us in all the sorrows of contradictions of our lives.

Mary Oliver, from her collection of poems, "Thirst"