Poem: A Prayer

Starseeds by M. David Orr, watercolor, 8" x 10," 2001

My wife tells me that educated men no longer seek for God;
The superstitious, and the old, and those afraid are those who pray.
I've heard this all before, and ten years past,
I would have seconded her thought--that evolution's mighty force
Had torn the Ancient Darkness' alters down,
Had ripped the shroud from our pretentious Lord,
And bared a moldering pile of reptile bones.
I'm sure I would have added, the record had been padded
By those who had delusions to uphold, or those insane.
I thought, "No eye is competent to note
The dirt under our nails, the germs on dirt,
The fine detail of spiders' feet,
Unseen by us except in microscope,
And every long-forgotten, obscure name
That ever walked the earth and suffered pain.
Why, Freud had sure discounted our free will!
While monumental forces pull our frame,
With Will the small caboose that ends the train.
"Yes, I would have seconded her thought,
And vanity assures, I would have added more.

Speak to me, O Ancient King!
I hear your voice but think it weak.
I strain with feeble ear
To hear your mystic music whispering low in my man frame,
To hear it whining high in starry field.
O play your graceful music loud and bold,
So even we born blind at least may hear
And know that Music made the far-flung spheres.

Copyright 2006 by M. David Orr

What is God's Name?

10 years ago I was seeing a Catholic spiritual director named Bill Creed. At the end of one session, he asked me, “David, what is your name for God?”

I was stumped for a second, then groped for an answer, “I don’t know, I suppose ‘Love’ or something like that.”

I must not have sounded too convinced because Bill said, “Well, think on it, and let it come to you.”

(Beauty by M. David Orr, watercolor, 22" x 30," 1994)

The next time we met, I knew instinctively that my answer was “Beauty.” My name for God is Beauty. To give you a feel for what I mean, Her picture is displayed above.

OK, it’s really a painting of Christy Turlington, the model, but you get the feeling, right? Hey, I’m an artist! You didn’t expect my image of God to look like a stodgy old man, did you? This is how God feels to me—sweet, beautiful, creative, the source of joy and life.

Copyright 2006 by M. David Orr

Little Pieces of Spirit

This blog is called "Little Pieces of Spirit" because my experience of God has been through ordinary, concrete things. For example:

Ike was this smiling, friendly guy from India who ran a convenience store next to my technical writing business. As we became friends, I learned that he was a Muslim and his wife a Hindu. Knowing the history of conflict between the two religions in India, I was surprised at how well they got along.

One day, I found out that Ike, who had a couple of kids, had been letting a homeless man live in his basement and had been feeding him. The only reason he told me was that he wanted some money for the man to get back to his relatives in California. I was impressed. I asked myself if I would let a homeless person that I didn't know live in my basement, and I realized I wouldn't. I also realized that very few Christians I knew would either. Who was the homeless man's true neighbor?

Ike's elderly mother in law came to visit from India. While here she had a heart attack. She had no health insurance, so Ike pledged to pay the hospital for her by-pass operation. He laughed when telling me about it, and called it his “mortgage without a house.” "What can you do!" he said, "God bless!"

Chris, a former Roman Catholic priest who had presided over my wife's conversion to Catholicism while he was still a priest, continued to serve people as a social worker after he left the priesthood. A friend gave Chris a brand new Honda Civic because Chris didn't care about possessions and just got around the best he could. Chris was working in St. Louis and met a homeless man on the street. After knowing Chris awhile, the man asked to borrow Chris' car. Chris lent it to him, and the man stole it. Chris told me, "David, I guess he needed it more than I did," and shrugged his shoulders. The friend who gave Chris the car got mad at Chris, but, of course, not for long. Chris was being Chris whom we all loved. A week or two later, the police found the car in good shape. Chris kind of shrugged his shoulders again and resumed his possession.

The art, poetry, essays, etc. that I post here all represent encounters with the Extraordinary in the ordinary--with God in us. Namaste! (God in me recognizes God in you.)

Copyright 2006 by M. David Orr