Blessed are those who know God’s poverty: 
            the emptying out of all that is not God. 

Blessed are those who grieve with God, 
            who know the sorrow of heaven, 
                        who nestle in God’s bosom.

Blessed are those who have the mind of God,
            not overweening, but sure of the value 
                        of life made in their image

Blessed are you whose appetite is only 
            for the crumbs of wisdom that fall 
                        from God’s table;

Blessed are those who have felt 
            the feather-touch of the brooding Spirit
                        glancing past, who reach out their fingertips 
                                    to brush mercy upon the other; 

Blessed are those who have the heart of God, 
            scoured out, filled up, purified by love;

Blessed those who weave peace between pieces 
            of clay, creating something new and calling it
                        good;

Blessed you though the world will not see you shine 
            with the luminescence of all the angels in heaven, 
                        so blessed are you.

#PreparingforSundaywithpoetry – if you are celebrating All Saints’ this Sunday, and noticing that the Gospel is already poetry itself. There’s more to say about that – that the Gospel, as a word that points beyond itself, is in essence poetry; but that’s for another time.