Sabbath is for Peace...

It is almost 2pm on Sunday and the house is quiet...all are asleep but me and I bask in this time, understanding anew that all the efforts to create space for this rest are worth it. We do not rest today so that we may work the rest of the week as we will, as Wendell Berry writes in his Sabbath poem,


"Six days of work are spent
To make a Sunday quiet
That Sabbath may return...."

From the Gospel reading for the Second Sunday of Easter,

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." (John 20:19-31).

One of the first messages of the resurrection: PEACE.

I go back to my own rest now, so that Sabbath may return.


Blessings dear readers! May the Peace of Christ be with you.
Amy

Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places

For this Sabbath, a bit of Gerard Manley Hopkins:

— for Christ plays in ten thousand places, 

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his 

To the Father through the features of men's faces. 

I caught a glimpse...

May you too find one of those ten thousand places on this Lord's Day. 

A Blessed Sabbath. 

Amy

Good Reads: Our Children's Poetry List Winter 2009

I grew up with poetry: my grandfather quoting it; my mother writing her own; memorizing it in school; a 4th grade teacher reading us "The Cremation of Sam McGee" for good behavior. But it wasn't until I started teaching poetry to AP students and then adults that I grew to love it. It wasn't just that I was forced to learn it and help others understand it, that helped, but more because I was then able to see poetry's ability to speak to so many different human experiences in such a simple yet profound ways.

A turn of phrase, an apt metaphor, a broken rhythm...brought forth rich discussion in class and food for thought long after the class was over. So often my own experiences are better understood in the light of poetry and I've started to enjoy writing in lines (here and here) rather than straight prose.

So reading poetry with my children is also becoming a part of our day. We've started reading poetry right before nap time. It calms them down but is short enough, they always are asking for more.


Here are the three anthologies we're reading right now:

The Green Tiger's Illustrated Mother Goose. We spend time pouring over the beautiful illustrations from over 100 artists dating from the 1880s to the 1940s in this wonderful edition I found at a used bookstore. It also maintains the older language so its syntax and vocabulary are much more interesting.

It's so easy to think of Mother Goose only for the very young but Nursery Rhymes build an ear for language and rhyme, increase musical and rhythmic awareness, aid memory, build phonemic awareness and even develop math skills. Many of the poems are just fun but others teach moral lessons.

Although the older editions are more complex, I have found that since the children already know the nursery rhymes so well that the complexity helps them learn more about the art of reading poetry.

The Complete Book of Flower Fairies by Cecily Barker

The children are smitten with this beautiful anthology of fairies of the trees and flowers. Each poem has an enchanting illustration of the fairy and a realistic depiction of the flower, leaf, or fruit. The poems are sweet, humorous, and thought-provoking, containing elements which actually teach the children a bit about the flower or tree. We're working our way through the Alphabet Fairies (which you could buy separately as its own book). The poems have led to imaginative play, tree and flower identification, and a deeper appreciation of nature. When an acorn drops they wonder if it is a fairy; they are quiet around Willow Trees, hoping to gain a glimpse; when our yard was filled with clover, they spent a good deal of time looking for the clover fairy! The book has a companion CD of the poems put to music and a wonderful coloring book. I hope to post more about our love of fairies soon!

The Ambleside Collection of Poetry. An online collection of over 200 classic poems for children arranged by month and season. I've printed and placed them in a binder. I also print a few to place on our seasonal bulletin board that has the children's art work and seasonal pictures. I pick and choose from the collection a few days a week. If the poem is too difficult for the children I encourage them just to sit back and enjoy the sounds of the words rolling together and ask what they heard, rather than forcing it.

Hope you're inspired to read poetry! Love to hear of other ways you've introduced poetry to your children and your favorite collections!

A Mother's Rule of Life

 I wrote this poem after my two friends each recently gave birth to their fourth babies.
Amy

I.                   The Mother’s Vocation.

A Rule of Life,
For the mother who wants to see
Her acts of love as vocation,
Not merely duty.

A mother's life may resemble the monk’s.
Bells call for prayer, stops
All kneel to pray.
Babies cry for feeding, stops
All--the hot shower,
Dinner on the stove,
Sleep--
Rocking to soothe.

Ora et Labora,
A good monk once said.
This the mother lives.
Diapers, laundry, dishes
The litany begins again each day
Same as the one before.
Tasks menial are good work.
Work that brings order, warmth, comfort, home.
       Call this lowly. Call this humble.
The mind which was also in Christ Jesus,
Poured out, taking the form of a servant.
Work becoming gift.

Good work makes thought and prayer.
Becomes a liturgy of the menial,
Litourgia—nothing less than
The “work of the people.”
And so, we work and pray.
Work and Pray.
Work and Pray,

Almighty God…Deliver me in my occupation
from the service of self alone,
that I may do the work you give me to do in
truth and beauty and for the common good;
for the sake of him who came among us as one who serves,
your Son Jesus Christ our Lord…

II.                The Mother’s Withdrawal

The monk withdrawals from the world,
Yet seeks to live in community.
This a mother lives.

Days of nesting
with newborn babe,
baby too fragile to venture outside,
mother too tired to try.
And so, we work and pray,

“O God, make speed to save us.
O Lord, make haste to help us.”

Fever and illness do the same,
Again trapped inside
Plans cancelled, doctor called,
Mopping brows, taking temperatures,
Cleaning sheets, soup made,
Stretching our hearts as cabin fever sets in.
And so we work and pray,
“Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.”

A night spent awake with the child who can't sleep
An earache, a worry, the bad dream,
Next day tired, tired, tired.
Again the withdrawal from the world.

And so we work and pray,

“Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night
and give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend the sick, Lord Christ;
give rest to the weary…
soothe the suffering…
and all for your love's sake.”

III.               The Mother’s Account.

The monk forsaking possessions for the kingdom.
This a mother lives.
Clipping coupons,
Growing vegetables,
Hanging clothes on the line,
No disposable products in the house,
(Toilet paper excepted)
Picking berries for jam,
Turning off lights,
unplugging, unplugging, unplugging.
Not getting her haircut as often as she once did,
Laughing at memory of the days when bought magazines,
Got nails done, and stopped for lattes on the way.
Wondering if the dress from ‘99 is out-of-date,
The shoes too worn to wear…
So the family may have a true feast for a Feast,
Dance lessons for budding little girls,
A two-wheel bike for little boy believing he’s ready,
A new white dress shirt to suit Philosopher Husband
On flight to further his career,
With money in pocket if all go out after Paper given.
And so, we work and pray,

O merciful Creator,
your hand is open wide
to satisfy the needs of every living creature:
Make us always thankful for your loving providence;
and grant that we,
remembering the account that we must one day give,
may be faithful stewards of your good gifts…

IV.             The Mother’s Embrace.

A Rule of Life:
We crave it.
We ache for it.
An ordered world,
Casting off the unimportant.
Living the life you want,
Not what the day hands you.

Rather finding a Peace which passes all understanding.

A Rule of Life,
Structured spiritual formation,
Is not a list
Do…Do…Do…
More…More…More…
Better…Better…Better…
Nor the endless sermon applications, self-help books,
Rewritten family schedules.

Rather a living covenant with the Almighty.

*All italicized prayers are excerpted from the Book of Common Prayer, 1979. Many pardons for the slicing and excerpting of beloved prayers. 

**For Alysia upon the birth of her fourth, JAW
For Heather, a mother of four soon to be.
With thanks to my own mother.
With Love, Amy

 ***For two different perspectives on a Rule for Family Life:
Read Ann’s post on the Seven Daily Rungs at Holy Experience
And Elizabeth’s Revisting the Rule of Six at In the Heart of my Home

Ordinary Time: A poem

We have now entered into the Church Season of Ordinary Time.

I thought a lovely way to begin, would be to start with a poem written by my husband, RJ published in the most recent edition of The North American Anglican.

Though "ordinary time" refers to ordinal or counted time, the play on words is thought-provoking in the poem. Unfortunately, I cannot get Blogger to quite display the proper spacing of the last lines of the poem which is frustrating, especially since I'm the one always talking about how form should mirror and shape meaning. But I hope you can still see the Minor Doxology (used in the early church from at least 529 AD) embedded in the last lines. I hope you enjoy it!

Ordinary Time

Ordinary time, the ordinary, not extraordinary;

green linen and Peter crucified.

We have seen the Father through the Son

and now a Comforter we need

as salve for the ordinary Acts

of the Apostles.

World without end,

it wasn't this way in

the beginning

but it

is now

and ever shall be,

ordinary.

Tuesday Review: The Poetry of Piety

I recently picked up The Poetry of Piety: An Annotated Anthology of Christian Poetry at our church library. I wish I had know of it earlier. Back when I was teaching literature in Trinity University's REACH program, I would always have students who were exposed to poetry in a meaningful way for the first time. They would then ask, "What do I read now?"

A compilation of 28 poets ranging from John Donne, TS Eliot, and CS Lewis to Langston Hughes and John Updike, The Poetry of Piety contains a well-written analysis covering a brief biography of the poet, a poem, a section called "The Poetry" on the poetic devices and techniques for each poem, then a section called "The Piety" on the Christian themes of the poem, and then finally ends with "Questions for Reflection."

As an example, I enjoyed the chapter on Christina Rossetti. They write in analysis of her poem Easter Monday, "God's yes to life is louder than death's no, and we will one day 'wake without a sigh.' Yet, these things will not be made plain until the resurrection." Then, in the "Questions for Reflection" they ask you, among other things, to "Reflect on God's promises of resurrection (e.g., I Thess. 4:13-17) and ask God to make these the primary images of death/life for you" (p. 98-99).


For those who would like to read more poetry with Christian themes and would like a little help in understanding the poetry's techniques and themes, this is a great place to start.

Summer Vacation!

We are leaving for our trip to Western Canada tomorrow! If I don't have many pictures to share upon our return, here's why:

The Vacation by Wendell Berry

Once there was a man who filmed his vacation.
He went flying down the river in his boat
with his video camera to his eye, making
a moving picture of the moving river
upon which his sleek boat moved swiftly
toward the end of his vacation. He showed
his vacation to his camera, which pictured it,
preserving it forever: the river, the trees,
the sky, the light, the bow of his rushing boat
behind which he stood with his camera
preserving his vacation even as he was having it
so that after he had had it he would still
have it. It would be there. With a flick
of a switch there it would be. But he
would not be in it. He would never be in it.

Sabbath poem: To My Mother

I love the vision of heaven offered in this poem. I hope my son will be able to say this to me one day. May you enjoy the green leaves and music in the air this Lord's Day. And a Happy Mother's Day!

To My Mother

by Wendell Berry

I was your rebellious son,

do you remember? Sometimes

I wonder if you do remember,

so complete has your forgiveness been.

So complete has your forgiveness been

I wonder sometimes if it did not

precede my wrong, and I erred,

safe found, within your love,

prepared ahead of me, the way home,

or my bed at night, so that almost

I should forgive you, who perhaps

foresaw the worst that I might do,

and forgave before I could act,

causing me to smile now, looking back,

to see how paltry was my worst,

compared to your forgiveness of it

already given. And this, then,

is the vision of that Heaven of which

we have heard, where those who love

each other have forgiven each other,

where, for that, the leaves are green,

the light a music in the air,

and all is unentangled,

and all is undismayed.

Wendell Berry, “To My Mother” from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry. Copyright © 1998.

Sabbath Poem-Spring by Hopkins

Here is the Sabbath Poem we read last Sunday on our drive to church. It was so fitting as everything is becoming "long and lovely and lush." This is our first Spring in Pennsylvania and it simply amazes us.

There were several times during the week that lines of the poem came back to me.
I often asked myself when outside in our garden, on a nature walk, jogging through the neighborhood, on a trip to Longwood Gardens with my mom and sister-in-law: "What is this juice and all this joy?"

It is the end of my husband's first year teaching at a new university, the baby is now 7 months old, we are feeling more settled after our move and so I feel the weight of it all being "rins[ed] and wring[ed]" away! My fear, though, is much like Hopkins. All is so sweet and beautiful, will it "cloud," will it "sour"?

Well, wishing you a blessed Lord's Day. On this Sunday in Spring, as Hopkins, "have, get" a glimpse of Eden and thus, be filled with the hope of heaven.


Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.


For a further basic analysis of the poem.

Sabbath Poem-The First Greens of Spring

While I'm not cool enough to know how to forage for greens yet, I'm pretty proud of those lettuce greens sprouting. This winter has also seemed especially long for us and so the first green of spring was much cheered!




I love this poem's hints of resurrection--" we and the world / are alive again today, and this is the world's birthday" and, perhaps, life-after-death-- " this green, this life, / harbinger of things to come." I thought the poem appropriate for the day we celebrate the Resurrection, not just in Easter Season, but every Sunday of the year! Hope you were able to enjoy the sweet first green of spring this Lord's Day!

The First Green of Spring

by David Budbill

Out walking in the swamp picking cowslip, marsh and marigold,
this sweet first green of spring. Now sautéed in a pan melting
to a deeper green than ever they were alive, this green, this life,

harbinger of things to come. Now we sit at the table munching
on this message from the dawn which says we and the world
are alive again today, and this is the world's birthday. And

even though we know we are growing old, we are dying, we
will never be young again, we also know we're still right here
now, today, and, my oh my! don't these greens taste good.

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2001/04/09

See other Sabbath poems, by clicking the subject heading in the LABELS toolbar to the right!

Sabbath Poem- A Call to Wait

Milton always believed he possessed great powers for which God would hold him responsible. He believed he would write an immortal poem but sacrificied his eyesight during England's Civil War.

This poem is his response to that; one in which I find great comfort when I'm particularly feeling the smallness of my world and question if my "talent...lodged with me useless." Patience' answer is not one we hear often anymore in this age of self-esteem and self-acutalization: "God doth not need either [Amy's] work or [her] gifts." I will serve Him best when I "bear his mild yoke...and wait."

Milton went on to write Paradise Lost, considered by many the greatest poem in the English language, dictating to his daughter since he could no longer write.

Hoping we may find the courage today to stop all of our busyness even when the cares of the world are heavy upon us and our to-do list long, remembering that "his State is Kingly: thousands at his bidding speed...without rest." Whatever we may think is so important we must accomplish it today, our job on this Lord's Day is to find comfort and rest in Him.

Now enough of me, the poem:

On His Blindness by John Milton

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,

And that one Talent which is death to hide,

Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, least he returning chide,

Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,

I fondly ask; But Patience to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts, who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best, his State

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait.

sabbath poems

We have a 20 minute ride to our church on Sunday mornings and so lately we've taken to reading a poem on the trip. It's just about enough time to read it, work through it, and then read it again with meaning and appreciation. This week we turned to Wendell Berry's A Timbered Choir: Sabbath Poems.

Even if you do not go out "among trees" on this Lord's Day, may you find the place and time so that "all [your] stirring becomes quiet." Wishing you a day of Sabbath rest...

I Go Among Trees and Sit Still
by Wendell Berry
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
Around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
Where I left them, asleep like cattle

Then what is afraid of me comes,
and lives awhile in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.