We felt an echo in our hearts—and thought it meant
That we had fallen—somewhere back there,
In the mythical days of innocence—the better days,
Until our time got microscoped by science.
We feel we stand accused of something—and it was wrong
It was sinful—indeed it was The First Sin.
And so something must be done—some metaphysical surgery
To make the world and all of us right again—
Until this notion too got microscoped by science.
For now we look around at the indifferent world and can’t bear
The dawning realization that there never was a first of anything—
Or if there was it was long before we arrived—
And we emerged by happenstance it seems.
We can’t help blaming ourselves for something lost
When the emptiness we feel inside is for something missing.
And we hunger for it. We look for God’s footprints
But instead we find layer upon layer beneath our sandals
Of the discard from ages past—aeons of holy beasts and birds and seas
That knew nothing of sin or self awareness. And God said, they were good.
And yet, they’re nothing now but imprints in the clay.
All this matter came prehistory to our spirit.
Spirit must by nature always waken as an orphan in the world.
It’s no one’s fault—unless perhaps it’s God’s (fearful thought)
And He stirs this in us, this restlessness and urge
To look beyond—and move beyond—the limits of our flesh.
The question then is not—What have we done?
Isn’t it—What on earth are we waiting for?
This poem also appears in the August 2024 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 89, No. 8, page 8). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.
