Rain of Grace

     Our church recently held its second annual "Day of Grace" tea, in memory of Grace Marvin, who truly lived up to her name.  I was asked to bring a poem to read but was frustrated, being a very literal person, that none of my writings were specifically about grace.  So I decided to write a grace poem, but it has been a slow process, grinding out one line at a time.  Part of the difficulty was that same literal thinking. It is important not to misrepresent a doctrine as important as grace, but I was writing a poem, not a dictionary.  Some subjectivity is permitted.  For next year's Day of Grace I'll not only have a poem ready, but a whole year in which to revise it.

               Rain of Grace

Grace is not theological thunder
booming from the rafters of a lofty cathedral,
but the rain on the roof
that makes the birds sing
and washes clean the common things
making even rocks beautiful.

Some men rejoice and some complain,
but all men feel the rain.

Grace is seen less in the splendor of stained glass panes
than in the translucent wonder of the rainbow
with its promise of mercy,
or the slender woman in the back pew,
from a life of pain and darkness,
who has finally seen the light.

Some men rejoice and some complain
but all men see the rain.

Grace sounds less like somber hymn chords
reverberating from a pipe organ
than a newborn's first, shrill cry,
an old saint's dying sigh,
the crude eloquence of a new saint's first prayer,
or the sound of rain after months of drought.

Some men rejoice and some complain 
but all men hear the rain.

Grace is not something to be touched,
but to be touched by.
It is seen only by those who look for it
and heard only by listening ears.
Only souls awakened by grace
begin to recognize its presence.

Some men respond and some disdain
while grace pours down like rain.