“Looking at Stars” by Jane Kenyon from Let Evening Come
The God of curved space, the dry
God, is not going to help us, but the son
whose blood splattered
the hem of his mother’s robe.
Jane Kenyon, whose work I’ve only recently discovered, wrote much of her spiritual poetry in her forties while dying of leukemia. This brief poem illustrates her (and humanity’s) need for a bleeding God who lived and died among us, splattering beyond his mother’s robe. Our help, our only comfort, our desperate need is for God who understands our suffering by dwelling on earth, not just in the heavens.
His blood, shed and shared so graciously and willingly, is on our hands, and pumps everlasting within our hearts.