I think that's where a lot of people stand right now. Trying to find meaning is a seemingly meaningless situation. Looking through Mary Oliver's book Thirst, I think I found a poem that touches upon this grappling. There are no real answers to all the questions that are being asked. Maybe the point is the struggle in this dark night.
It's a human urge, when you're stuck in darkness, to reach out and try to find some light.
Saint Marty finds some light with Mary Oliver.
After Her Death
by: Mary Oliver
I am trying to find the lesson
for tomorrow. Matthew's something.
Which lectionary? I have not
forgotten the Way, but, a little,
the way to the Way. The trees keep whispering
peace, peace, and the birds
in the shallows are full of the
bodies of small fish and are
content. They open their wings
so easily, and fly. So. It is still
possible.
I open the book,
which the strange, difficult, beautiful church
has given me. To Matthew. Anywhere.
 |
| There's light out there |
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