Poems in the plague

Once upon a time, I used to be an English teacher (among other subjects), and I look back on that incarnation with affection. My enjoyment of poetry probably dates back to the time when I was given a hardback copy of A Child's Garden of Verses, with full-page gloss pictures. Something I've been looking forward to in these months of enforced isolation is returning to my poetry books and even buying some new ones. Sadly I've not yet made time for that, but I've come across two which I enjoyed.

Sometimes you come across people who seem to be called for a moment of history. One such person is Catherine (or Kitty) O'Meara. She is deeply spiritual person, and ironically the calling she received was when a poem she wrote went viral. (As is the way of the internet, it's been variously and mistakenly attributed.)
 
IN THE TIME OF PANDEMIC
And the people stayed home.
And they read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.
And they listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.
And the people healed.
And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.
And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.
© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara

It's not hard to see why this was so instantly popular. It reveals a heart which combines realism, compassion and hope. For me the best line of the poem is, "Some met their shadows," and that is no bad thing. Her blog (The Daily Round) of the last few weeks in my view is worth reading regularly. I often feel that the feature that is most lacking in contemporary Christian worship is that of lament. That's not necessarily "Woe is me!" sackcloth and ashes, but facing reality head on and not pretending it doesn't hurt or that it's going to be all right for me. On 25th March she wrote a post with the refrain running through it,
"I will die; you will die; everyone you love will die. Every living thing will die."

Another poem, based on a well-loved hymn sung to the Londonderry Air, I heard on Sunday 22nd March. It was written by the Rev Dr Sam Wells of St Martin-in-the-Field where I have recently been worshipping, virtually.

BUT THIS I KNOW

I cannot tell why grief and sadness linger

Why jobs are lost, and people face despair;

When this will end, if vaccines come and rescue,

Why isolation stalks the earth again.

But this I know, Christ feels the hurt upon the cross;

The Spirit weaves our lives together still.

And some glad day, through Providence, the Father

May turn this wave of loss to glory by his will.

I cannot tell how we can be together

When all our ways of doing so are lost;

How we can be one body in communion

If every form of touch comes at a cost.

But this I know, we’re sealed upon the heart of God

The Spirit dwells within our fearful souls.

And Christ finds ways to show his face to all of us

To lift our hopes and meet us in our mortal fears.

I cannot tell how long this time of fear will last

If there’ll be months, or years of damaged lives;

When once again we’ll gladly throng together,

To sit and laugh, to dance and play and kiss.

But this I know, we’re finding things both good and true

About our God, each other and ourselves.

So after this we’ll know we’ve met our darkest hour

And now there’s nothing we will have to face alone. 

© Sam Wells, by kind permission of the author

The thing about lament is that one believes the light because the poet has faced the darkness; because the poet has been honest about the negative, you can believe the positive.