On the eve of the baptism of Jesus, I happened to discover a poem of Denise Levertov’s called On the Mystery of the Incarnation. The first lines struck me, because I feel like I’m living in a time when I see our species doing its utmost to destroy our planet. I was trying to find a way to preach about Jesus’ baptism, and also acknowledge the current suffering of our world, not just our species, but all species, the earth itself, between massive fires in Australia, earthquakes in Puerto Rico, floods, storms, war, threats of war. Levertov’s poem opened like a pause in a litany, a breath, a rest, an epiphany all its own, a bit of light in the darkness. I’m grateful for that.

Denise Levertov (1923–1997)

On the Mystery of the Incarnation

It’s when we face for a moment
the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
the taint in our own selves, that awe
cracks the mind’s shell and enters the heart:
not to a flower, not to a dolphin,
to no innocent form
but to this creature vainly sure
it and no other is god-like, God
(out of compassion for our ugly
failure to evolve) entrusts,
as guest, as brother,
the Word.