Minister's Column

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March 2012

On February 16 Susan and I welcomed a new daughter into the world, Clare Marie. Our eight-year-old Leah is enjoying being a big sister and we’re all appreciating the gift of this new life to our lives. While we were in the hospital, in a very busy maternity ward complete with joy and sorrow, we had many occasions to consider how truly fortunate our healthy birth experience was. Life is complicated and fragile and definitely not something to take for granted. How easy it can be to focus on the circumstances of our own lives, maybe even being a little (if not a lot) too self-focused, and miss the stories being lived all around us. This is a balancing act each of us faces, this being grateful for our lot while not forgetting the challenges that could just as easily be ours. I’m not eager to cloud over my joy with others’ tragedies, and that’s not really what I’m suggesting anyway. Some happy moments should simply be treasured. And yet, I’m thinking that doing my best to keep it all in perspective is a practice worth pursuing. Humility and gratitude are holy things. Holy, indeed.

One of my favorite poets, Wisława Szymborska, a nobel laureate from Poland who died last month at the age of 88, said it well in her poem “Among the Multitudes” [from Poems New and Collected 1957-1997, trans. by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh]:

I am who I am.
A coincidence no less unthinkable
than any other.

I could have different
ancestors, after all.
I could have fluttered
from another nest
or crawled bescaled
from another tree.

Nature's wardrobe
holds a fair
supply of costumes:
Spider, seagull, field mouse.
each fits perfectly right off
and is dutifully worn
into shreds.

I didn't get a choice either,
but I can't complain.
I could have been someone
much less separate,
someone from an anthill, shoal, or buzzing swarm,
an inch of landscape ruffled by the wind.

Someone much less fortunate,
bred for my fur
or Christmas dinner,
something swimming under a square of glass.

A tree rooted to the ground
as the fire draws near.

A grass blade trampled by a stampede
of incomprehensible events.

A shady type whose darkness
dazzled some.

What if I'd prompted only fear,
Loathing,
or pity?

If I'd been born
in the wrong tribe
with all roads closed before me?

Fate has been kind
to me thus far.

I might never have been given
the memory of happy moments

My yen for comparison
might have been taken away.

I might have been myself minus amazement,
that is,
someone completely different.


Here’s hoping for amazement for all of us this month.

See you in church!
 

Visit the Rev. Mark Stringer on his Facebook page:
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