You cannot be God Without being mother To those you have birthed, Whom you have held in your arms And fed at your breasts.
If you are God, You listen to the chatter Of your children Even if it is petty And self-centered. You pick them up When they fall, Wipe their noses When they are sick, Wash their clothes, Give them baths.
So when the next time comes To recite the Apostle’s Creed, Say, "I believe in God the mother Who gave birth to the cosmos And all that is in it, Who nursed it and held it . . ." It won’t fit the rhythm of The other Apostle’s Creed, But that won’t matter. Say it to the rhythm Of the God who, By her constant nurturing, Satisfies your craving for tenderness.
Copyright 2007 by Cliff Williams Reprinted with permission from Christian Feminism Today, 31 (Fall, 2007), 3
On Praying
I do not pray very well in churches.
When I need to pray, I put on old boots and dark clothes, Take a piece of cardboard, folded up, And drive to a freight train yard. There I find an empty boxcar And, laying out my cardboard, sit or lie.
Words come slowly or not at all-- Mostly feelings or desires, Sometimes vague longings.
No one knows where I am Except the one toward whom The longings are directed.
After an hour I fold my cardboard And find my way out of the yard. Later, when I am in church, I pray when others pray But not with them Or with their words.
Copyright 2007 by Cliff Williams Reprinted with permission from The Penwood Review, 11 (Fall, 2007), 19
Cliff Williams Department of Philosophy Trinity College Deerfield, IL 60015 cwilliam@trin.edu