A Poem for the Broken, Searching, and Human

In The Name

I often describe myself as “poetry challenged.” I usually need someone else to help me get all of the nuances of poetry–although I find beauty there, it is definitely not my natural genre. But every once in a while I hear a poem that simply blows me away, This one is from Irish poet Pádraig Ó Tuama, who was a recent guest on Kate Bowler’s podcast “Everything Happens” (which has been showing up here frequently over the past few weeks).

It strikes me as a prayer for our times, as a gathering call for those who cannot see eye to eye or even imagine the perspective of someone else.

In the Name – Pádraig Ó Tuama

In the name of goodness, of love and of broken community
in the name of meaning, of feeling and I hope you don’t screw me
in the name of darkness and light and ungraspable twilight
in the name of mealtimes and sharing and caring by firelight

In the name of action, of peace and human redemption
in the name of eating, of drinking and table confession
in the name of sadness, regret and holy obsession,
in the holy name of anger, the spirit of aggression

In the name of forgive and forget, and I hope I get over this
in the name of father and son and unholy spirits
in the name of beauty and broken and beaten up daily
in the name of seeing our creeds and believing in maybe

We gather here, a roomful of strangers
and speak of our hopeland, and talk of our danger
to make sense of our thinking, to authenticate lives
to humanize feeling and stop telling lies

In the name of philosophy, of theology and who gives a damn
in the name of employment and study and finding new family
in the name of our passions, our lovings and indecent obsessions
in the name of prayer, of worship and demon possession

In the name of solitude, of quiet and holy reflection
in the name of the lost, the lonely and the without-direction
in the name of the early and the late and the wholly ineffectual
in the name of the straight, and the queer, transgender and  bisexual

In the name of bootclogs, and boobjobs and erectile dysfunction
in the name of schizophrenia, hysteria and obsessive compulsion
in the name of Jesus, and Mary and the mostly silent Joseph
in the name of speaking to ourselves, saying ‘this is more than I can cope with’

In the name of touch-up, and break-up, and of breakdown-and-weeping
in the name of therapy, and Prozac, and of full-hearted breathing
in the name of sadness and madness and years-since-I’ve-smiled
in the name of the Unknown, the Alien, and of the Wholly-In-Exile

In the name of the named and the unnamed and the names of the nameless
in the name of the prayers that repeat ‘I wish that I could change this’
in the name of goodness and kindness and intentionality
in the name of harbour, and shelter and family.

If you want to hear the author read his poem, it begins at about 22:00 in the podcast.