by Mary Oliver

The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.
Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.
The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,
and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,
and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.
Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did,
maybe the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move, maybe
the lake far away, where once he walked as on a
blue pavement,
lay still and waited, wild awake.
Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not
keep that vigil, how they must have wept,
so utterly human, knowing this too
must be a part of the story.

What if all of our mistakes, our inattention and our confusions were all part of the story?  What if God were big enough and joyful enough to gather up all of our mistakes, our sorrows, wrongdoing and carelessness…. so intent enough upon us that no place were too far to go, no surrender too great, to find us and reconcile the world?

As we turn our faces to Jerusalem and prepare to keep watch with Jesus in the garden, may we know the intimacy of the Spirit who insists that we too, though we slump with closed eyes and dull senses, are greatly desired and drawn into the story through the longing of God.

Peace to you as we walk these holy days together.


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