A Psalm of a Child’s Lament

by Jane Tawel

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A Psalm of a Child’s Lament

By Jane Tawel

March 26, 2023

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And as we look, under narrowed lidded eyes,

with hearts made heavy by hate and fear,

we fear that each of us, alone, or with our few,

 are helpless.

For fear and hate are the same thing,

and now, oh, heavy-hearted, helpless headed, I fear,

the whole world seems to want to de-evolve.

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Nations look to gods whose time has passed.

People rage and flail against those who might have been a brother.

All come down upon the women who might have been mothers;

might have been if only someone cared for the babies they bore;

might have been if only their nurturing love had not so often

been raped

by those who think power

is a type of holy matrimony/patrimony/schmatrimony.

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Incarnation has been a willing victim of climate-change.

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And the Little One,

who asked to be birthed in every single one of us;

The Child still offers up His life to us and says,

“If you let the kind of God that lived in Me,

live in you,

the True You will be reborn.”

The Child looks at his barren womb, the World,

and weeping, cries,

“How I long to gather you to me,

as a mother hen gathers her little chicks.”

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But without a peep, the world seems to give up.

Instead we fight battles against what we could change for good.

Instead we play foolish dangerous games,

trying to return to a past we never knew

because it never existed.

Nothing has ever existed outside our own good selves.

And having given up Goodness for false idols,

we don’t know what story to live.

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And the world lets go of Truth and Love,

in the name of gods who don’t care 

about what we claim They created. 

 It would be silly if it weren’t so horribly sad.

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And the human beings have given up

with a deafening roar of silent uncaring.

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Our Creator weeping, turns away.

He can’t stand to look at us any more, in our pain, Her pain.

He can’t stand to see us picking at scabs,

that She has so often offered to heal.

For God never once imagined, that when He birthed us from His womb,

that we would think we were born to live in a Place elsewhere.

Why would a lovingly created creature,

hope to live again somewhere else?

Why long for somewhere “out there”, when

This Place, here, this Earth, these creations, these people,

were created in beauty and truth and caring and love?

Why look for perfection elsewhere, if a Perfect God

created this Perfect World for us?

Why hope to live in Heaven, when Creator said,

“And it, this world We made

this planet and all in it,

they are good. 

It is all Very Good.”?

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Perhaps the God we say is Good,

is birthing Goodness elsewhere.

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But has not God left us in charge?

Does not the Universe still call?

“Oh, ye of little faith!

Regard the mustard seed,

the sparrow, and the grain of wheat.

Believe that you are not alone in longing.

You only need to take one prayerful step

into the Grace of Hopefulness.

Light your small lamp and know

that all is Possible.

For even in this dark time,

where two plus two awake,

Infinity is born.”

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Perhaps the Heroes of Old will be reborn

and their rusty swords will become plowshares,

tilling the earth back to health.

Perhaps the great female warriors,

who have saved the world before,

will arise,

and mother us all to wholeness.

Perhaps the God we say we put our hope in,

is still hopeful.

Perhaps She hopes, like a Little Child may hope

that Her paper dolls will come alive.

Perhaps the Divine Parent

is crossing the Fingers that made this world;

fingers crossed that we, His dearest children,

will still take the plunge, and be reborn.

Perhaps Creator One, still believes in us;

believes that we can heal our Land;

believes that we can love each other;

believes that we can bring Heaven to Earth

as we were entrusted to do.

Perhaps there is still a smidgen of Divine Belief

that lions will once more be at peace with lambs,

and that we humans will look around and see — 

there is enough for all of us.

And we will look at each other without fear,

because we will have re-created God’s world,

and we will say, “It is good. It is very good.”

.

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If today, in this small being I call myself,

if there is a grain of hope that I can be a part,

then like the little fledgling that I am,

I hope to purify my longing heart.

Let us be gathered under Wings of Love,

to safely brave the elements of war,

and may I, even I,

someday say with all the hope a newborn has,

“Let there be peace on Earth,

and let it begin with me.”

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© Jane Tawel, 2023