knocking on a door without a house

Following my last post I have had a few messages. All of these have been well meaning and some have been particularly helpful. The poem below came from a Seattle friend. The message was encouraging with this poem to dwell on rather than a list of things to do. 

The poem has struck me and as I read it I superimposed my wall over the poets door. I get the sense that the poet, Kapka Kassabova, has  a belief that exile is a normal condition of humanity – in some way that resonates with my sense of Christianity as I wonder if we can ever really speak out fully against injustices or put ourselves last for the greater good (a possible definition of mission?) unless we have an exile mentality. The opposite of exile is fully accepted and ‘at home’. If we feel ‘at home’ in the world then what is the point of mission? Maybe it’s because we feel to ‘at home’ and have settled, that the church, to many outside, does not appear to have that missional compassionate edge that they think it should have.

The door: anticipation of wisdom

one day you will see clearly:
you’ve been knocking on a door without a house.
You’ve been waiting, shivering, yelling
words of badly concealed and excessive hope
Where you saw a house, there’ll just be another side.

One day you will see clearly:
there is no one on the other side,
except- as ever- the jubilant ocean
which wont shatter
ceramically like a dream
when you and I shatter.

But not yet. Now
you wait outside, watching
the blue arches of mornings
that will break but are now perfect.
Underneath on tiptoe
pass the faces, speaking to you,
saying “you,” “you,” “you,”
smiling, waving, arriving
in unfailing chronology

One day, you will doubt the exactness
of your movements,
the accuracy of your sudden age.
You will ache for slow beauty
to save you from your quick, quick life.

But not yet.  Now
you say “you,” there is always “you,”
“you” fill the yawn of time and surrounds you, until
you knock the door down, one day,
and walk over to the other side
nothing will be revealed.

But not yet.  Now let’s say
you see a door, and knock,
and wait for your knocks to be heard.

Kapka Kassabova

1 thought on “knocking on a door without a house

  1. Godot never comes. The end.Where you see hope I read an existential poem that whilst not as bleak and brutal as Beckett seems to offer no salvation just a non revelation. In fact it could alomst read as a mythic telling of reincarntaion. Of course this could just reflect my current state of mind, the City in a hot suumer may not be the best place to read this!

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