In the Quiet — From Where this Poem Rose
In my Quiet Time the other morning, I sat with a longing that my estranged sons might reconcile with my wife and me this Christmas. I noticed how Advent awakens my grasping—for the perfect Christmas, the perfect relationship, the perfect anything.
As I sat with that awareness, the image of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb rose within me. I felt Christ inviting me—just as he invited her—to loosen my hold and awaken to the God already here, the Word made flesh within us, the One who fills the longings no human attachment can satisfy.
I have also recorded the poem if you prefer to listen to it. Click here to listen.
Mary—Don’t Cling
An Easter Poem for Advent Reflection
I used to stumble over Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene
there at the empty tomb,
tears still wet on her face,
her heart torn open by grief.
He speaks her name—
Mary—
and her whole world is restored in a breath.
She reaches for him,
for the Rabbi she followed,
the Presence who gave her meaning,
strength,
life.
And then—
Don’t cling.
I used to think those words
were harsh,
unloving.
Seriously?
After all she had endured.
After watching him beaten,
nailed,
crushed,
buried?
How could his first words be a warning?
But as I held the moment in my heart,
I heard something deeper.
I heard a tenderness that doesn’t command—
it invites.
I heard a wisdom that doesn’t push away—
it redirects.
“Don’t cling…”
not because love is withdrawn,
but because Mary’s heart and ours are invited
into a greater Love.
Our deepest longing is for God.
And anything we cling to—
a person,
a role,
a memory,
a wound,
a desire for others to change—
can become an idol, an unholy attachment
if it takes the place of God
the One who alone can hold us.
When I notice myself grasping—
for security,
for affection,
for control,
for someone to be who I want them to be—
I hear again these words whispered within my heart:
“Don’t cling.”
Not a rejection.
Not a scolding.
But an invitation—
a gentle turning of the heart
toward the source of all wisdom,
all identity,
all unconditional love.
As we stand before the tombs of our lives—
the losses,
the fears,
the unmet desires—
Christ stands with us,
calling our name,
lifting our gaze,
reminding us:
God alone is our Center.
God alone is the Perfect Love we seek.
God alone is the relationship
that will never pass away.
And when we stop clinging,
we surrender,
weightless,
unafraid,
falling into the arms of the One
who has held us all along—
through every shadow,
every longing,
every hidden ache.
Emmanuel.
God Alone is with us.
Here. Now.
In our hearts.
Softly…
gently…
listen…
Don’t cling.
Awaken.
Breathe in Divine Presence.
Rest in Unconditional Love.
Receive the Gift of God Alone.
Your Turn
Sit in the quiet. Focus on your breath, the Holy Spirit flowing in and through your lungs.
Ask yourself:
- Who am I holding too tightly, trying to carry or save?
- Who have I been leaning on too heavily as a savior for myself?
- How is God inviting me to rebalance, making God my Center?
- What sensations arise in my body when I rest in the truth that God alone is enough?
Let each answer unfold gently…
Softly…
Without rushing…
Receive the insights, the presence, the Christmas Gift of God Alone.
I have also recorded the poem if you prefer to listen to it. Click here to listen.
—brian plachta
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