Now the eyes of my eyes are open ...

"Stamen Study 5" (© Erik Walker Wikstrom  2010)

Edward Estlin Cummings -- often written as "e. e. cummings," although, he, himself, preferred his name to be appropriately capitalized -- was a poet of the 20th century well known for his rather ... idiosyncratic ... style. 

I read one of his poems in worship the other day, and it's one I think of often.  It feels to me like a beautiful expression of gratitude; it feels to me like a prayer.  The poem begins, "i thank You God for most this amazing day," and ends:

(now the ears of my ears awake andnow the eyes of my eyes are opened)

This reminds me of a phrase that's attributed to Yeshua ben Miriam (who is better known as Jesus).  It appears six times in the Gospels:  "If a man [sic] has ears, let him hear!"

Unlike many passages, looking at different translations doesn't reveal too many variations.  All of them have Jesus saying essentially the same thing.  (The Amplified Bible: classic edition elaborates: "He who has ears to hear, let him be listening and let him consider and perceive and comprehend by hearing."  Eugene Peterson's quite personal translation, The Message, puts it a lot more simply:  "Are you listening to me?  Really listening?")

I know that all too often I fail to hear the "still small voice" (or, "the voice of quiet stillness," as one translation puts it) that is whispering to me of Life's love.  My ears are too stuffed with the noise of the news, and the voices calling me to do something for them, or telling me how to do the things I'm doing.  I know that all too often I pass beauty by, unseen, because I'm too focused on the comings and goings of my days to attend to the deep truths of my life-- of Life.  I know that all too often my ears are not open, and that all too often my eyes are not open, and that all too often I simply can't "consider, perceive, or comprehend."

How about you?

How open are your ears?  Not in general.  Right now.  Do you have ears that are able to hear?  Are you listening to the song of life?  Really listening?  Not always, but now.  If not, take a moment.  Close your eyes.  Allow all the noise to quiet down, and notice what you hear.  This takes practice, and none of us will ever be able to listen to Life like this all the time, but it's so important that we do.

The same with your eyes ... what are you able to see, right now?  Are you seeing surface things, the illusions of importance cast by so many things in this world?  Or are you able to see through the distractions and delusions that veil deeper truths?  Again, not always.  Right now.  If not, take a moment.  Move your gaze from thing to thing in front of you and really see it, then really look at the next thing.  See that stapler, or that sock, or that squirrel in front of you.  This, too, takes practice.

The spiritual life takes practice, because it is so much about developing the ability to really attend to life -- our lives, the lives of the those around us, Life itself.

Cummings' poem begins with a joyous, delightfully and delightedly exuberant prayer of thanksgiving to, "this amazing day."  It ends by declaring that now those inner ears, and those inner eyes, the eyes and ears that can truly hear and truly see, are open.

Pax tecum,

RevWik