Longing as the Way
Mark S. Burrows
It is a strange and lovely word, ”longing,” one hard to say quickly because of the arc of
the soft “o” followed by the gentle “ng” sound—doubled in this word—which we must
give shape to in the back roof of the mouth. Its physiological origin, within the range of
our speech, makes it one of the deepest-back and innermost sounds we produce. How
fitting for this word, of all words! Its sound reflects the experience it suggests, for it
takes time to say it and is delicious in the saying: “longing.” Even as you read these
lines, you sense the quiet wandering the word stirs within your heart.
“Longing” describes the spiritual texture of many of the poems found in SAID’s
recent collection, 99 psalms (Paraclete Press, 2013). Reflecting the experience the word
speaks of, his poems approach this theme in ways that startle us, sometimes bending
our expectations back on themselves, sometimes puzzling us deeply enough to draw us
into new comprehensions, always calling us to look at our own lives more carefully,
more honestly, and above all more generously. Consider this one:
Strange to imagine telling God to “keep silent” in order to hear us. Peculiar to suggest
that our voices, or the voices of others, become “quieter” in God’s absence. But such sentiments
are close to our experience, wondering as we sometimes do if God is attending to us, notices our
needs and those of others in the pain, the worry, the confusions that bind us. And, in our
wondering, we often fall silent in our pondering, whether in doubt or in hope.
Perhaps, as SAID seems to be suggesting, our longing itself is a kind of belief, one that
takes us further—or deeper—than mere knowing. Perhaps our longings are the truest way in
which we seek communion with the “other” we sometimes name “God.” Perhaps longing itself
is the surest way we learn to believe, especially when our lives are abruptly interrupted, our
hopes shattered, our confidence chilled. For longing, more than knowing, is what guides us in
the ways we seek the God who is “steadfast” in the midst of our commotions and confusions.
As the poem reaches its final pause, what a marvelous moment of courage we find:
namely, the chutzpa involved in asking the Lord, who “know[s] everything about [us],” to
believe—in us. But what else is this than mercy? The poem unsettles the thin conventions of
our piety, and yet insists on speaking to a place deep in our soul—where our heart longs for the
God whom, we pray, will still turn to us even though knowing everything about us, with the
shadows and debris alongside the bursts of clarity and moments of goodness that mark our lives.
We often speak about God as “word” and imagine the Lord as One who is still speaking
with us, but we know what it means to face the long silences when this does not seem so. In
such times, longing can be our guide as we desire communion with One who is silent and
steadfast enough to give us room to be, space to grow, time to listen. Our longings are not the
goal, but in this long journey of faith, they are often the way.
Mark Burrows is a poet, theologian, and teacher. He currently serves as professor of theology
and literature at the Protestant University of Applied Sciences in Bochum, Germany. His recent
publications in English include an essay in the forthcoming issue of Weavings, “Listening into
the Heart’s Silences” (Vol. 31.3), and, as editor, Breaking the Silences. Poetry and the Kenotic
Word (Peter Lang, 2015). His translation of Rilke’s Book of Hours, entitled Prayers of a Young
Poet, was just published in a newly revised paperback version (Paraclete, 2015), and his
translation of SAID’s 99 psalms is also available as a volume of Paraclete Poetry (2013).