Journal entry by Al Negstad — a minute ago
Statues
"What does justice look like?
He asked, and I said that's easy.
A bronze statue of a woman
In robes, blindfolded,
Holding up scales. Precisely,
He said, you can almost hear
The correct little clicks of those
Weights in the balance. Now,
He said, what does mercy look like?
That one stumped me.
"Is there a lesson here, I asked, and
He said, perhaps sculpt a woman
In a bathrobe, making a sandwich,
And her scowling boy, who prefers
Peanut butter to ham. Or carve
Bienevenu foisting his candlesticks
On cringing Jean Valjean.
Or fashion the brittle father
Rushing down the clay path
To embrace his prodigal, but--
"I get the idea, I said,
There would have to be two.
Not quite, he said.
There would have to be
Movement. Not easy with statues,
With things that stay put, things done
So right that they make little clicks." Tom Schmidt in The Christian Century, June 5, 2019, P. 10
Bereavement is a wonderful opportunity for mercy, and as this profound poem points out mercy, is movement...action. As the recipient of countless acts of mercy, as I've traversed the land of grief, it has become clear to me how merciful movement...the actions of others...has assisted me toward healing and recovery.
The 'takeaway' I think, is, when confronted with another's bereavement, do something. Perhaps use words but doing: sending that e-mail, writing that note, inviting to meals, events, home... It is the "doings" of relationship that conveys mercy. Never discount the significance of your relationship with the bereaved...no matter how tenuous the connection there is opportunity for mercy. Something as small as telling or asking a story about the deceased is an act of mercy.
Takk for alt,
Al
"What does justice look like?
He asked, and I said that's easy.
A bronze statue of a woman
In robes, blindfolded,
Holding up scales. Precisely,
He said, you can almost hear
The correct little clicks of those
Weights in the balance. Now,
He said, what does mercy look like?
That one stumped me.
"Is there a lesson here, I asked, and
He said, perhaps sculpt a woman
In a bathrobe, making a sandwich,
And her scowling boy, who prefers
Peanut butter to ham. Or carve
Bienevenu foisting his candlesticks
On cringing Jean Valjean.
Or fashion the brittle father
Rushing down the clay path
To embrace his prodigal, but--
"I get the idea, I said,
There would have to be two.
Not quite, he said.
There would have to be
Movement. Not easy with statues,
With things that stay put, things done
So right that they make little clicks." Tom Schmidt in The Christian Century, June 5, 2019, P. 10
Bereavement is a wonderful opportunity for mercy, and as this profound poem points out mercy, is movement...action. As the recipient of countless acts of mercy, as I've traversed the land of grief, it has become clear to me how merciful movement...the actions of others...has assisted me toward healing and recovery.
The 'takeaway' I think, is, when confronted with another's bereavement, do something. Perhaps use words but doing: sending that e-mail, writing that note, inviting to meals, events, home... It is the "doings" of relationship that conveys mercy. Never discount the significance of your relationship with the bereaved...no matter how tenuous the connection there is opportunity for mercy. Something as small as telling or asking a story about the deceased is an act of mercy.
Takk for alt,
Al
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