beauty – sethlewis.ie

Dappled Glory (a poem)

Our world is full of wonderful things, and life here is brightened with moments of grace and happiness so powerful it almost hurts. And then they pass. Like sunlight through the leaves, these moments cannot last, but our longing for more directs our hearts upward, to where these glories come from. That’s what I was thinking about when I wrote this poem.

Dappled Glory

There’s a kind of beauty that
makes the heart ache
that makes the heart long
that makes the heart break
to be bigger and wider
and stronger to take
in the glory
of one single
moment

There’s a kind of summer
that makes the heart sing
and still
somehow
you miss the spring
and long for autumn
as wonders move
like sun-beams
across the grass—
dropping dappled glory
as they pass

Enjoying Your Own Decline

Nobody likes to talk about it, but the decline is coming. I’m not talking about economics, western culture, or common courtesy. I’m talking about us. You and me. Life is a mountain with two sides, and no matter how high you climb, you’ll still end up at the very bottom someday. Even the god-like pharaohs landed there, and the treasure in their tombs was eventually plundered. That’s how it goes. If you’re lucky, you’ll live long enough to experience the decline as a gradual downward slope. For others, it’s more like a cliff. One thing is certain: decline is coming.

It may be your strength. It may be your beauty. It may be your mind. It may be your influence, the relevance of your work, your notoriety, or your social prominence. Eventually, it will be all of the above. I guess it makes sense that we don’t like to talk about this. It sounds dire, doesn’t it? And yet I’ve witnessed people living out the years of their decline with a strange, luminous joy that refused to track with their diminishing abilities and strength—on the contrary, it actually grew stronger and brighter as they weakened and let go. How is this possible? I want to know, because I want that joy.

The Eyes Of The Old And The Young

As my wife and I were walking, we caught ourselves identifying wildflowers beside the path—or at least as many as we could. There are a lot of wildflowers in Ireland, and it’s hard to keep all the names straight. As we wondered about some of the varieties, we also began to wonder if such wondering about flower names is a sign of getting older. We feed birds in our garden, after all, and keep track of which kinds of songbirds visit us. Caring about such things is often associated with age, isn’t it? If so, we’ve decided that this is clearly a benefit of aging, not something to be avoided. Noticing the beauty God put around us is always a good idea, and if it’s associated with getting older then I reckon that’s a sign that older people are generally wiser and have figured out more about what is really important on this planet. It’s not only the old who notice these things, either.

The Language of Rivers and Stars

While the children were off school this Easter our family took a trip to explore Mizen Head, the southernmost tip of Ireland. It’s a remote peninsula where the rocky, wild terrain is dotted with cottages of white or pale yellow and the land is a patchwork of squares and rectangles divided by low stone walls. Clusters of sheep and cows surround tiny villages with steeples in the middle and strings of houses and pubs and shops that might be out of eggs if you get there too late. At the southern point where the land runs out there’s an old signal station that’s become a tourist attraction, reached by a footbridge that stretches between impassable sea cliffs. When we walked across and looked down we saw three seals far below us, relaxing in a rocky inlet surrounded by towering, jagged rocks while the seagulls soared above our heads. In the far distance, we could just make out the shape of Fastnet Rock, a tiny island of stone where people managed—somehow—to build a lighthouse to warn those at sea of the ship-shattering dangers around them. At our feet the just-blooming sea-pinks waved in the breeze and I wondered again how these flowers manage—and even seem to prefer—to grow in places where there is so little soil and so much violent wind from the ever-turbulent ocean.

A City Whose Builder And Architect Is God

Have you ever noticed that illustrations of heaven tend to lean heavily on Greek architecture? The pillars and spires might be brighter, and the streets paved with gold, but the forms and styles still look familiar. It makes sense—the ancient Greek temples and forums were gorgeous, a true high point of human ingenuity and creativity. But these styles are human conceptions, whereas Hebrews 11:10 tells us that heaven is a city “whose architect and builder is God.”

Have you ever stopped to consider what it looks like when God himself designs and builds a city?

The Past Is More Than A List Of Problems

It’s often said that those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. The unstated assumption in this saying is that the past is full of problems—which is obviously true. Learning from the mistakes of the past is a big job because there are just so many to choose from. Our learning is also complicated by the danger of over-correction—of fixating so intently on avoiding one problem that we fall easily into another. After all, we’re just as susceptible to cultural blind spots, overlooked abuses, and self-serving justifications as anyone who went before us. Have you seen the internet lately? So we must learn from the mistakes of the past, and we must apply our lessons carefully. But I think we sell history, our ancestors, and our own selves short when we only see the past as a litany of problems to avoid. Our forebearers certainly had their issues—plenty of them—but they also had their successes. They were often wrong, but sometimes they were right. And what if we were humble enough to admit this? What if we learned from history not only by critiquing it, but also by letting it critique us?

Another Chance (a poem)

It’s been months since I paid any attention to the long-lost autumn leaves that are lying in the grass alongside the roads and paths that I walk on. The glorious colour they impressed me with when they fell is nothing but a memory now. Then again, have you seen what frost can do to a leaf on the ground? This morning, every vein of every leaf is highlighted in white—the intricate patterns stand out in shimmering relief—and once again my eyes are drawn in renewed wonder. A few weeks ago, I would have told you that these leaves were far beyond their glory days. This morning, they shine unexpectedly with a new and different kind of glory. Our Creator can make beauty shine from a pile of dead leaves, and anywhere he wants, and long after we’ve given up hope of it ever coming again.

Around The Web

Today I’d like to share a few articles from around the web that I’ve enjoyed recently. Maybe you’ll enjoy them, too.

Inside Of The Painting (a poem)

I have a short poem for you today, and it requires some imagination—but not much.

Inside Of The Painting

What does it look like
Inside of the painting?
What would it be like
To live in that world?

Slowly Going Blind

We had some friends visiting last week who had never been to Ireland, and we got to show them why this place is called the Emerald Isle. The beautiful postcards tell the beautiful truth. And the castles, churches, and monastic ruins dotted across the countryside add a layer of historic mystery to the impossibly green landscape. We have a castle in our own village, and the patchwork fields beyond it eventually lead down to the rocky coast. You could hardly go anywhere on this island without seeing something historic or naturally magnificent. Welcome to Ireland. Let me show you around…

Or will you show me?