He had no form or comeliness That we should look at him, And no beauty that we should desire him. — Isaiah 53:2
A whiff. A beagle for beauty I sniffed Monet’s haystacks, van Gogh’s sunflowers,
Devoutly meditated Marilyn’s breasts,
Watched kingfishers—lost the scent.
Kiss the leper’s wound: taste honey.
Touch the blind eye: learn Braille.
Keep vigil at the cradle: change diapers.
Drink tears from the chalice: live eucharist.
Happened on found things, found in gutters
Found on a cross, found under a stone,
Heard in the rustling grass, heard in
A tongue stammering sabachthani.
Found when I wasn’t looking, heard
When I wasn’t listening.
- Beauty by Eugene Peterson
So far my favorite poem from Holy Luck by Eugene Person. Resonated with my understanding of Lent. The giving up of what we normally seek so that beauty can find us.