For Lent this year, CJ gave me a book of poetry by Malcolm Guite titled The Word in the Wilderness. I can’t recommend it highly enough.
If you are not certain that poetry is “your thing,” you might give this a look. Malcolm Guite provides his own poems and those whom he has selected by other authors and annotates each one with helpful commentary.
I include one of his, below, named “First Steps.” And a hint: it is best to read the poem aloud.
First Steps, Brancaster
This is the day to leave the dark behind you
Take the adventure, step beyond the hearth,
Shake off at last the shackles that confined you,
And find the courage for the forward path.
You yearned for freedom through the long night watches,
The day has come and you are free to choose,
Now is your time and season.
Companioned still by your familiar crutches,
And leaning on the props you hope to lose,
You step outside and widen your horizon.After the dimly burning wick of winter
That seemed to dull and darken everything
The April sun shines clear beyond your shelter
And clean as sight itself. The reed-birds sing,
As heaven reaches down to touch the earth
And circle her, revealing everywhere
A lovely, longed-for blue.
Breathe deep and be renewed by every breath,
Kinned to the keen east wind and cleansing air,
As though the blue itself were blowing through you.You keep the coastal path where edge meets edge,
The sea and salt marsh touching in North Norfolk,
Reed cutters cuttings, patterned in the sedge,
Open and ease the way that you will walk,
Unbroken reeds still wave their feathered fronds
Through which you glimpse the long line of the sea
And hear its healing voice.
Tentative steps begin to break your bonds,
You push on through the pain that sets you free,
Towards the day when broken bones rejoice
We learn from the accompanying commentary that Malcolm Guite wrote this poem after taking his first walk following a leg fracture that had him walled-in for many months.
In light of Lent, he reflects on this walk –
It’s good that this call to journey and pilgrimage in Lent comes in the spring and the turn of the year. For many of us winter is dark and difficult. It was particularly so for me in the winter of last year as I coped with a broken leg. This poem, written to celebrate my first walk outdoors after the accident, alludes to Psalm 51, the great Lenten penitential psalm with its prayer to ‘make me to hear of joy and gladness that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.’
These last few months for me have been an occasion for reflective meditation and prayer … and not a little occasional brooding!
At the end of 2022 and the beginning of this year, our family has visited various doctors more often than at any other time in our lives. CJ had surgery in early December and thankfully she is well on her way to a full recovery. She began a new job three weeks ago and is adjusting to the full-time schedule as the senior executive assistant to the chief of CU’s Highlands Ranch Hospital. We give God our gratitude and thanksgiving for this, but I have some continued medical concerns that I wish to share with you here.
As many of you know, the tendons in my left ankle were somehow torn during the fall hiking and walks that CJ and I took in Europe while on sabbatical. It is showing signs of healing but whether it will heal fully without surgery is an open question. Then shortly after Christmas I became ill and underwent scans that uncovered an inflamed gallbladder, which was then removed the same day. However, the scans also disclosed an aneurysm of the thoracic aorta. So, over the course of these many weeks, I’ve spent time with a cardiologist as well as an orthopedic surgeon for the ankle. In the event that I would need surgery, the wardens, vestry and I are discussing options for Saint Gabriel. The earliest I will know anything with a degree of probability will be in June after a second scan to see if the aneurysm has grown. Its size is currently bumping up against a measurement where precaution would lead a cardiologist to do open heart surgery and replace the thoracic aorta. Both CJ and I are so very grateful for your support and your prayers. I’m not particularly anxious about it, but it would be nice to have it resolved.
For these reasons I am drawn to the imagery in Guite’s poem particularly in the following lines-
Unbroken reeds still wave their feathered fronds
Through which you glimpse the long line of the sea
And hear its healing voice.
Tentative steps begin to break your bonds,
You push on through the pain that sets you free,
Towards the day when broken bones rejoice
Though at times walled-in by our circumstances, we take those steps toward the open sea, knowing that God’s power in raising Jesus from the dead is for eternity, and for our healing.
Thanks be to God!