Wild Geese

 The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Mary Oliver, in her poem Wild Geese, tells us that we “do not have to walk on our knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.” Well, that’s good news; for I have much to repent. There, in the desert, I can see the fullness of my human nature in the glare of the bright sun. Reflecting on the epiphanies that I have had over this past pandemic year, I coulda, shoulda, woulda done some things differently. And yet, Oliver claims that we “do not have to be good.”

“Tell me about your despair and I will tell you about mine,” writes Mary Oliver. “That’s easy,” I say. My despair involves human suffering and the searing pain of losses. I have despaired when diseases subvert my faith and ratchet up my fear. Surely, indeed too frequently, I have been forced to my knees in desperation, crawling around the desert for a morsel of food, a drop of water, and looking for someone or something to help.

            In the silence, I am reminded of the mysterious, unfathomable reality that I call the God of my “not-understanding.” While human relationships are complicated, my relationship with God is not. Quite simply, God invites me into the Way of Love, which of course is not always simple. Let “the soft animal of my body love what my body loves” Oliver writes. Easier said than done! And so, I begin to accept the changing contours of my body, and the wrinkles that testify to many years of life in a more loving light. I begin to love what my body loves in all manner of things.

I find serenity in prayer, contemplation, and the natural world. I have heard the wild geese call me, sometimes in a harsh wake up call, reminding me that I can do better. Other times, it is a call that is exciting, inviting me to move on, move forward, and look up. With Mary Oliver, I find that “the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep rivers.” I walk and talk to God.

“Meanwhile” she writes. Meanwhile, while we wander and wonder in these desert times, the world goes on. The wild geese still fly! High in the clean blue air, (not polluted by smoke) they are heading home. Sometimes they are united, flying in formation, beating their wings for a common purpose. Occasionally one drops to the ground, a fallen hero in its own battle against this disease or that one. And yet, always, they are together as companions on the Way, rotating their leadership, honking encouragement, and on a journey whose destination lies beyond their sight.

Home is a place of comfort for me, where I have a safe shelter, where I am not afraid of violence, or eviction, or the necessities of life. Home is also where my heart is, not where I lay my head. When I am at home with God, I remember that I am not useless, unloved, and unappreciated; and there is a place for me in the “family of things.” At home, I know that I am good. 

Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”