It's Lent

Sometimes hymns come in other ways than with the melody of music.  If we take the definition of hymns that, "To sing is to pray twice," (often attributed to St. Augustine), then for me there are other ways to enter the song of God's presence.  Poetry is one such invitation.  David Whyte's voice is as melodic and hauntingly beautiful as some of my favorite church hymns.  Listen to Whyte read his poem by clicking the video above.

Sit with it.

Now lend your voice by reading the words aloud:

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the
conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

Which words leap off the screen and land with a thud in your heart?
Which words got caught in your throat, your mind unsure if you were speaking that which was true and could be trusted?
Which words sounded so foreign or tasted like a mouthful of lima beans (or substitute here your least favorite vegetable)?

Sit with this poem. 

Sit with your response, reaction to this poem.

Let it work and wiggle in your life.

And may there be more than a trace of grace as you let this "hymn" wash over you in these Lenten days.