Someone Untied Your Camel

How shall I describe Hafiz?

Wikipedia tells you he is a fourteenth century Sufi Mystic who is greatly revered for his poetry, “a poet’s poet.” In the Persian-speaking world Hafiz is still widely read and “generally regarded not only as a great poet, but also as a seer, a “tongue of the mysterious” (lesan ol qayb).

During his life, Hafiz was called a lover of God and a heretic. I understand the reason for these titles and say, “all truth is God’s truth,” and enjoy mining it from Hafiz’s ancient verses.

His playful prose shouts loudly of the deep love of God, whom he often calls The Beloved. There are too many beautiful poems to pick a favorite, but today I choose  Someone Untied Your Camel:

I cannot sit still with my countrymen in chains
I cannot act mute
Hearing the world’s loneliness
Crying near the Beloved’s heart

My love for God is such
That I could dance with Him tonight without you,
But I would rather have you there

Is your caravan lost?

It is,
If you no longer weep from gratitude or happiness,
Or weep
From being cut deep with the awareness
Of the extraordinary beauty
That emanates from the most simple act
And common object.

My dear, is your caravan lost?

It is if you can no longer be kind to yourself
And loving to those who must live
With the sometimes difficult task of loving you.

At least come to know
That someone untied your camel last night
For I hear its gentle voice
Calling for God in the desert.

At least come to know
That Hafiz will always hold a lantern
With galaxies blooming inside
And that

I will always guide your soul to
The divine warmth and exhilaration
Of our Beloved’s
Tent.

Poetry makes the world make sense to me in a way expositional treatise never can.

As a follower of Christ, this poem resonates deeply. It speaks of chains and loneliness and I see the symptoms of a broken and sinful world, crying near the Beloved’s heart. As Tim Keller writes, “Self-centeredness creates psychological alienation. Nothing makes us more miserable than self-absorption.” We know what it is to live in this place.

“My love for God is such/ That I could dance with Him tonight without you/ But I would rather have you there” speaks clearly of a complete contentment with God, yet a longing for others to join. This is an accurate description of the incarnation. Jesus was perfectly in step with the Father and His complete love, acceptance, and glory.  Yet he wanted us to join this dance, so he came for us.

This in turn is what we do as his followers. We through Christ’s atonement have the Father’s perfect love, acceptance and glory, yet long for others to join, because we know just how good this is.

When Hafiz writes about losing awareness of the divine in the common he compares it to a lost caravan. Often this is us. When obligation replaces joy, we are left trudging through the dessert of duty blind to the Beloved’s presence. As the sun beats down we grow weathered and calloused; no longer can joy cut deep enough to reach the heart. We cannot accept grace for ourselves and certainly cannot extend it to others.

We need the soft light of a lantern, a welcome relief from the heavy sun and cold darkness, to guide us to the place of warmth and joy. Even seven centuries after his death, Hafiz stands with a lantern, illuminating the love of God. He reminds us of truth we knew but forgot in the glare of duty and performance.