Messenger by Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.Journal with me.
When was the last time you stood still and truly were astonished? What astonished you?
Some thoughts.
Oliver’s poem Messenger and I met when I borrowed her book, Thirst, from my local library.
I remember sitting on the front steps of my house in Fayetteville, GA, early one morning; I opened to the first poem, Messenger, and found myself happily stuck on the line about her important work of standing still and being astonished.
I recently started thinking about it because, in theory, this is the work: to bear witness to the magnetic pull of God's grace everywhere. This work requires us to point away from ourselves to something we can’t explain, and likely won’t be able to explain.
And yet, on some days, I don’t do this job well.
A few days ago, someone asked me a question. The question probed my stance on a social issue debated in many mainline American Christian denominations since the 1970s.
I did what I shouldn’t have done—I gave my opinion. I heard someone say recently that opinions tend to be underdeveloped thinking. But in my anxiety, that’s what I had access to. Later, I realized what I should’ve offered: a story.
The story I would tell if I could go back would be one of astonishment. Of how my mind was made up until I met someone, and then I met another person, and another person after that. Through friendships, I began to realize how my position couldn’t contain the complexity, the heart, and radiance of God’s image in another person, and how grace unfurls in all situations. My previous position was that some variety of God can’t. The Messenger said to Mary about her pregnancy, “For with God nothing will be impossible.” Living within the paradigm of the Gospel is a continuous examination of your assumptions.
The story I wish I would’ve shared is one of astonishment.
No harm comes from stories that expose our growing edges because they testify that most of reality cannot be explained; it just is, and we say, “Wow.”
So today, I dare you to leave your opinions aside. Take them off the table of your conscious mind. Be astonished by something—anything. Pay attention. And then, tell someone about it. This is the work.
Get specific: How? When? Where?