My brother
Almost 20 years ago, the poet Mary Oliver wrote this poem, called Iraq.
I want to sing a song for a body I saw crumpled
and without a name
but clearly someone young who had not yet lived his
life and never would.
How shall I do this?
What kind of song would serve such a purpose?
This poem may never end, for what answer does it
have
for anyone
in this distant,
comfortable country, simply looking on?
Clearly
he had a weapon in his hands.
I think
he could have been no more than twenty.
I think, whoever he was, of whatever country, he might have been my brother,
were the world different.
I think
he would not have been lying there
were the world different.
I think
if I had known him, on his birthday,
I would have made for him a great celebration.
Now, decades later, this same poem could be called Iran. Now, decades later, too many are caught in the crossfires of war. I am no expert on global politics. I can’t make sense of all that is happening in the Middle East these days. I cannot possibly count the cost, not just the ultimate cost paid by the family and friends of our soldiers who have died, but also the literal cost to our country’s resources.
I do, however, know that there are people living in those buildings exploding on the other side of the world. People rocking their babies to sleep as bombs fly above them. People caring for their aging parents and tending to those who are afraid. As we, in our comfort, look on, so many on the other side of the world face tremendous peril.
The word Lent is derived from Old English word lencten, meaning “lengthen.” It points to the lengthening days of spring, but this season of repentance, prayer, and service invites us to lengthen our love. These days move us to stretch our hearts to be a bit bigger, to extend our capacity to care, to protract our prayer – maybe even to include our enemies.
As the days lengthen, as this war lengthens, I pray that our hearts might do so as well. As Mary Oliver reminds us, that man on the other side of the world might have been my brother. This is enough for me to grieve this war, for me to pray for it to end. This is enough for me to wish our world were different, to pray the world were different, to work to make the world different. I’ll start by working to make my heart different, lengthening my capacity to love.
Judi Berkley
This is a beautiful reminder of the normal, everyday people that are suffering as a result of the attack on Iran.
Judy McDowell
This is beautiful, Sara. When our own words fail, poetry can say so much. Thank you.
Anne Budde
Lovely
Dana Wedeking
This expresses beautifully what so many of us are feeling and having a hard time putting into words. Thank you for this thoughtful reflection. By definition, reflection is a “deep thinking about one’s experiences, actions, and beliefs to gain understanding and learn for the future.” We should pray for more reflection on the part of the leaders of our world.
Audrey Keeney
Thank you for sharing this poem and your thoughts. This says it well and helps to bring it to us in a person way. So easy to think of it as faraway and not affecting us.
Ronda Bird
Oh, Sara! This meditation needs to be shared with the world. 😢❤️
Kristi Masterson
I love this thought so much…lengthening our capacity to love.
Sharon Sanyi
Oh, Sara, so beautifully said. And so excruciatingly true. Thank you for the reminder to lengthen our love and our prayers in this chaos.
Sue Grove
Oh yes, Sara, “make my heart different, lengthen my capacity to love.” What a good thing to strive for.
Tom Hebbeln
We’re caught in a whirlwind of madness. Yes, prayer and love are our best hope!
Tammy Hermanson
Such a lovely and timely message, Sara. May the light of Christ shine into the recesses of our hearts so that we may become beacons of hope.
Kurt Nordby
Thank you Pastor, for these very important words!
Deborah Lamp
Thank you for this and how true, I also pray for a world far away. Thank you
Gina Bielski
Your words are always so comforting and inspiring, Pastor Sara. Thank you. 🙂