EVIDENCE - Mary Oliver

I am quoting this poem by Mary Oliver in my homily this weekend.  The blogger where I looked up  this poem wrote: "Oh for a church where Mary Oliver is quoted and read."   I friend (former parishioner) quoted this poem, where I got the idea to use it in a homily.  

1

“Where do I live?

 If I had no address, as many people do not,

 I could nevertheless say that I lived in the same town as the lilies of the field,

 and the still waters.

Spring, and all through the neighborhood now there are

strong men tending flowers.

Beauty without purpose is beauty without virtue.

But all beautiful things, inherently, have this function -

to excite the viewers toward sublime thought.

Glory to the world, that good teacher.

Among the swans there is none called the least,

 or the greatest.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief.

 Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.

As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious and full of detail;

 it wants to polish itself; it wants to love another body;

it is the only vessel in the world that can hold,

 in a mix of power and sweetness:

words, song, gesture, passion, ideas,

ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.”

2

There are many ways to perish, or to flourish.

How old pain, for example, can stall us at the threshold of function….

Still friends, consider stone, that is without the fret of gravity, and water that is without anxiety. 

And the pine trees that never forget their recipe for renewal. 

And the female wood duck who is looking this way and that way for her children. And the snapping turtle who is looking this way and that way also. This is the world. 

And consider, always, every day, the determination of the grass to grow despite the unending obstacles. 

3 

I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by this adventure--your life--what would do for you? 

And, where are you, with your ears bagged down as if with packets of sand? Listen. We all have much more listening to do. Tear the sand away. And listen. The river is singing. …

For myself, I have walked in these woods for

More than forty years, and I am the only

thing, it seems, that is about to be used up.

Or, to be less extravagant, will, in the

Foreseeable future, be used up.

First, though, I want to step out into some

fresh morning and look around and hear myself

crying out:  "The house of money is falling! The house of money is falling! The weeds are rising! The weeds are rising!"