At this week's Crossan and Friends, the special guest was recovered evangelical Brian McLaren, who started us off with a poem (he called it a sort of haiku) that he'd just written. Not Szymborska but lovely.
I do not walk on water
Except in winter,
When ice makes the miracle more natural.
To me, these days, natural miracles are better,
Signifying lessons to live rather than shortcuts to take,
A more subtle yet more real magic.
For me, nature is already as supernatural
As it needs to be.
The simplest, humblest things —
Green moss on grey rock,
Spotted turtle basking in a shaft of sunlight —
They are true signs and wonders,
Holy, significant, wonderful.
I used to crave miracles to prove something
(most especially, myself, my faith, my tribe’s exceptionalism).
Now, instead of the miracle,
I try to keep my eyes open for the meaningful.
That these sounds in air or these marks on paper
Could bear my heart to yours,
Or bring what you see to my eyes … what
Could be more miracle?
