Jane Greer reanchored us to what matters.

‘D o you think she was ready for the wonder of God?”

“Of course she was!”

On the last Saturday night of July, a group got together virtually for a poetry reading. We were fans — and some, friends — of Jane Greer. You may not know her name, but some considered Greer to be the greatest living American poet. She died in a hospital after a few weeks of health complications, having prepared spiritually in the ways one does when one’s earthly days are winding down. Greer lived in North Dakota, so most of us, scattered across the country, wouldn’t be making it to her funeral Mass. But we wanted to show God that we were grateful for this life and talent, to grieve together, and to let her husband and son know that we loved her, too, and are praying for them in their tremendous loss.

That remark about the wonder of God captured our group’s consensus about Jane. Thinking about her Creator was a priority of her existence. Though that word, “priority,” might suggest that this was a task or a burden for Greer, a built-in routine to make sure God got His due, it was much more natural than that. You breathe. You see God’s awesome beauty and give Him praise. It is what you do to live. That’s how Jane Greer seemed to live.

If you hadn’t come to that conclusion already, the title of her last poetry collection gives it away: The World As We Know It Is Falling Away. Our time here is a gift, and it has a deadline we’re unaware of. An earlier collection of hers is titled Love like a Conflagration. The title derives from a poem in which Greer also writes the following: “Don’t act as though some game’s been played unfairly: / He’s never skimped on prophets since He breathed you / out of the mud and on your way to Heaven — / yours for the asking.” I’m not great at explaining poetry (and I’m not going to pretend that I am), but this is about God and the superabundance of mercy He makes available to us. And we’re often spoiled about it. We can be ungrateful and ungracious. Jane knew that He is perfect love and that we can never give Him what He is due. We can never earn it. We don’t deserve it. We can’t repay it; we can only give back to Him our imperfect lives. And so, Greer wrote: “But you were too intent on what you’d crawled from. / You can’t begin to dream what you’ve rejected, / what we would give to need His fierce salvation, / require His dying.” And then comes the titular line: “Love like a conflagration shall be yours now; / love like an April river, like a temblor;/love like an avalanche, a midnight bomb-blast, / finding you hidden.”

Thanks be to God. He will always find us. And He already knows. Our deepest, darkest sins — all of which He has seen before — are not as special as we think they are. They are actually quite boring and pathetic, considering what He offers us: eternity with Divinity Himself.

Greer’s poem quoted above, “Micha-el,” may not be theologically correct, but she wrote as though she were an angel guide herself. She was not only a beautiful poetic talent, who observed the world with a tender thanksgiving, she also was funny and sarcastic. It’s a wonderful blend. Her sarcasm let you know that any compliment she paid you was true, because she did not, as they say, suffer fools.

“Jane’s poetry was rich and gorgeous, full of wisdom, clarity, and truth,” Emily Stimpson Chapman wrote in a memorial post on her Substack, Through a Glass Darkly. “Her words could strike the heart like bullets, penetrating defenses, breaking down barriers, drawing blood, all in the space of one tight line.” Chapman noted a trinity of gifts that made Greer such a treasure. First, “a keen command of the English language.” Second, an understanding of reality, “which is to say, Jane knew Jesus, and she knew His Church.” Moreover, she knew the “love of both, as well as the demands of both,” and “her faith gave her poetry substance and texture.” Finally, Chapman writes, Greer’s age, too, made her poetry what it was. “Her writing reflected the wisdom of many years lived. . . . Her best poetry only came into the world when Jane was well past 60, and compassion, justice, mercy, and faith had found the necessary time to work themselves as deeply into her bones as her poetry.”

We can’t talk with Jane now, but this insight kind of makes you want to host a poetry reading with elderly men and women, to see what they see. And ask what they want to add. Ten years from now, nobody will likely have any idea about whatever cultural or political distraction happens to occupy us this week. How about we sit down with someone who has put in time, fight distraction, and try to understand what life is all about and what is most important?

As our reading group was talking about wonder and mystery and God, I observed many smiling faces. Jane lived some of the joy for which we are made. Her poetry invites us to do the same. She called her husband “Mr. Wonderful” — a brave thing to do when you live with someone. She wanted us all to be brave and wonderful.

This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.