Why does God not destroy the world?
In the sin and bloodthirst of human life,
Whereby so many suffer blows from stamping boots and iron
hands,
Why not sweep it all away?
I wander through the sunshine
And wonder if these things are why –
The shimmer of light across rippling water,
The ripple of wind across the long grass,
The bend of trees in the high breeze,
The shift and roll and swirl of clouds as they fly.
These are his creations.
I wander through the rain
And wonder if these things are why –
The sweep of a cloud’s shadow across the land,
The leaves borne along by water running swiftly,
The grey glimmer of light upon the gutter’s stream,
The rays of sunlight descending through breaking clouds.
These are his creations.
I wander through the warm breeze
And wonder if these things are why –
The green color of water in the curl of a great wave,
The white cottonwood seeds floating down the wind,
The way everything in the distance fades to a hazy blue.
These are his creations.
I wander through the crisp chill breeze
And wonder if these things are why –
The sunlight through yellow leaves not fallen,
The way a tree bare of leaves looks just like a network of
blood vessels,
Or the branches of a human lung, or the branches of a river,
As if they all had the same function, so the same form.
These are his creations.
I wander through the snow
And wonder if these things are why –
The way that a forest bare of leaves is still so thick to
impede sight,
The water vapor from a woody bush catching the sunlight on a
winter morning,
The ice caught upon the branches after a freezing rain,
glittering in the sunlight,
For a single day turning the barren and boring tree into a
work of art
That no human hand could match, or make –
That is his creation.
I wander through the night, under stars,
And wonder if these things are why –
The easy sweep of the Milky Way across the heavens,
The twinkle of stars in the heavens,
The light of a bright full moon in the heavens
That turns the whole world beneath it silver, in its light,
And black, in its shadows.
The rise of the moon, orange on the horizon, as if some
jack-o-lantern
Larger than any human hand could make.
These are his creations.
These are His
creations. Among many.
He could make them again, if he swept them away for to sweep
us away.
What of ours?
I sit in my chair with my knitting
And wonder if these things are why –
The way light through a window falls upon a dusty room,
How the lenses of spectacles bend the light
So that they cast a shadow on the table,
Even though they let light into your eyes.
How a bit of light coming through the windows of a sanctuary
at night
Will make the place look as sinister as the sanctuary looks
holy by day.
How the streetlights turn the clouds of night from dark
shadows to violet banners,
A pretty contrast to the midnight blue and the twinkling
stars.
The way your reflection in a silvered mirror looks so much
like you
That you wonder if there is any difference.
The way your reflection in a dark window makes you look like a ghost.
How the light catches on the twisting glass creations
Of those who would match the glitter of an ice-bound tree,
as best they can.
These are our creations, among many.
These he would lose, if he swept the world away.
This also he would lose –
The way a child in the crook of someone’s arm
Falls asleep, safe and warm.
The way a dog greets its master at the door, bounding and
baying,
Never bored.
The way a cat will stay with a household, despite its lofty
stand-offish perch,
Despite its reluctance to be pet, despite its disdainful
stare,
Because it also loves, in its own way.
This he would also lose –
The rope tossed by a stranger to a stranger
For to save them from peril,
For no reason other than that each must live.
The solemn bond of steadfast friends
Sworn to protect each other through all trials,
Sworn to remember each other though they may be parted.
He would lose the sight of old friends finding each other
Unexpectedly, after being parted for years.
He would lose the sight of two people who were perfect for
each other
Finding each other by chance. He would lose the opportunity
to arrange such things.
And he would lose his own friends on earth,
Those people, some say as few as thirty-six,
Who in their daily lives are so helpful, so loving and so
kind
That they keep God’s grace in the world
Even when no one else seems to.
Many believe this is the only reason he forbears to destroy
us.
Or perhaps the reason
Is that if he were to destroy the world,
If he were to blast it apart, and send the pieces spinning
off into the darkness,
And never make another world, but step away from it all, and
wander the heavens forever, cursing his efforts, cursing humanity, cursing
everything,
It would mean he was admitting defeat,
And that his heart, greatest of all hearts,
Was at last broken.
I wander out of doors after a great storm
And see there in the sky, the real reason,
Above all else.
He promised to stay his hand.
He made a covenant. If he broke it,
Who could believe him again?
Not even himself.
And he would make no more covenants,
And be no Adonai, no Elohim, no El Elyon.
For good or ill, he made his promise with all the earth and all creatures on it,
And decided to be stuck with it.
He leaves the work of destroying the world to us,
Perhaps by fire,
Perhaps by flood.
We can blame none but ourselves now.