A Liturgy Before Writing A Poem—Ben Palpant and Douglas McKelvey
"What I mean, O Christ, is this: I would like to write a poem today."
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This liturgy is from Every Moment Holy Volume 3, a collection of liturgies from over 60 writers on topics as diverse as baking bread, beginning an artistic work, receiving rejection, and more.
A Liturgy Before Writing A Poem
by Ben Palpant and Douglas McKelvey
O Christ, the Eternal Word from whom all other words draw meaning, I am hoping to find a way to say a thing that cannot be expressed in common speech. Like one who hunts a sacred hart through darkling woods, I am stalking an epiphany that has till now eluded me—a boding notion, a half-uttered ache, a fluttering of wings flashing in the periphery of my vision.
What I mean, O Christ, is this:
I would like
to write a poem today.
To craft a living thing
that can sing like
a blackbird perched in
the crook of a heart.
Would you send your Holy Spirit
to brood now over the womb
of my imagination
as I roll up my sleeves
and seek to midwife some newborn
thing into the world?
I don’t need it to be a perfect poem
(whatever that is), but I would like it
to be full of life when it’s born:
spirited and generative, something
worth knowing and loving.
I don’t need it to raise the dead,
but maybe you could use it
to awaken a slumbering soul or
to usher someone nearer to
the heart of things.
You have used life’s grit to form pearls
in the deep and secret waters of
my soul. Guide me now as I dive
to find them. Give me skill to burnish
and arrange such treasures in pleasing
designs that they might reflect the light
of a bright yearning, evoking wonder,
rekindling hope, or gently reminding
of some wound long in need of tending.
Let me find forms of words that will
do the delicate work of shadowing forth
some facet of your eternal beauty, some
intimation of your everlasting and
fathomless heart.
III
Usher me now into a cleared and
quiet place, O God, into a pondering
stillness without distraction where even
the wearying voice of my own vanity
falls silent—a prayerful, hovering hush
wherein I might labor to craft one
artful line, and then another, and
another until, by your grace, I have
hammered and joined them into
forms infused with something
of the humble and the holy.
And if, to reach that end, I must
along the way contend with my own
soul, or grapple with the Angel of
the Lord, or see my own heart break
against a bristling shield wall of
ancient shame and accusation,
then let it be so, O Lord. Prepare
my heart for any sort of battle
my poetry requires.
I V
I am your poiema, Lord.
You have crafted me carefully,
affectionately, and patiently.
Let me imitate such mindful love
in my own labors.
Then whether the poem emerges
as a thing lofty or low,
magnificent or meek,
make of it a path and a bridge,
make it a mirror and a lamp,
make it as bread on the water,
or a stone beneath the water.
Let it become a thing that might
in some way lead, or light, or feed,
or give firm footing to another.
V
As I venture into wild places beyond
the maps, O Christ, grace my eyes to
glimpse some glint of gold beneath my
feet—evidence of a buried trove poking
from the soil, asking to be unearthed.
Let me stumble upon some
revelation that I,
or others, deeply need—
even if it’s not at all
the thing I first
set out to seek.
Surprise me,
by hiding your heart in
unexpected places
for me to find.
Now ready my mind,
my soul, my hands. As I
work these lines, lead me
into wisdom wiser than
my present understanding.
Breathe your breath of life,
O Lord, into this humble offering,
that this poem might offer more
than I alone can bring—
that it may
name and consecrate
some holy thing that
might otherwise be easily missed,
or too casually dismissed
as ordinary.
Amen.Ben Palpant is a memoirist, poet, novelist, and non-fiction writer. He is the author of several books, including A Small Cup of Light, Sojourner Songs, and The Stranger. He writes under the inspiration of five star-lit children and two dogs. He and his wife live in the Pacific Northwest.
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Beautiful. I have a cousin named Judy who would love this. Her life is music and holy wind and light, and she is a matriarch with deep and loving reach.