But Then We Were Children

My poetry-only Advent has never been about poems specifically relating to the season, or even particularly religious poetry. I like religious poetry and seek it out, but other poetry works just as well for me. If it takes the top of my head off, to paraphrase Emily Dickinson, it's good enough for me.

Today, however, I am on an Advent message and will share some lines from W.H. Auden's marvelous work, For the Time Being, a "Christmas Oratorio" which was never actually set to music. This long poem covers the story from before the Annunciation through the Flight into Egypt. Even though it was never fully performed, either spoken or sung, the reader can still hear voices raised in song, can still see movement of characters across a stage. Or maybe it's just my imagination.

The piece I am sharing today is from the first section in which Caesar's world is portrayed, and there is no better passage in all literature that so well describes the utter and endless tedium of a world without Christ. Auden plays with time so that modern references are intertwined with ancient ones. He plays with mood as well, transposing his 20th Century angst with the overwrought Empire of the 1st Century. This "dark night of the soul" is as easily viewed in any godless world or person.

But it was not entirely godless. God's people were there with "the fern's devotion to spatial necessity," going through some sort of motion. It was more that any reaching toward God had been so worn thin by reaching elsewhere. Sound familiar?

The Narrator of the oratorio:

If on account of the political situation,
There are quite a number of homes without roofs, and men
Lying about in the countryside neither drunk nor asleep,
If all sailings have been cancelled until further notice,
If it's unwise now to say much in letters, and if,
Under the subnormal temperatures prevailing,
The two sexes are at present the weak and the strong,
That is not at all unusual for this time of year.
If that were all, we should know how to manage. Flood, fire,
The desiccation of grasslands, restraint of princes,
Piracy on the high seas, physical pain and fiscal grief,
These after all are our familiar tribulations,
And we have been through them all before, many, many times.
As events which belong to the natural world where
The occupation of space is the real final fact
And time turns itself in an obedient circle,
They occur again and again but only to pass
Again and again into formal opposites,
From sword to ploughshare, coffin to cradle, war to work,
So that, taking the bad with the good, the pattern composed
By the ten thousand odd things that can possibly happen
Is permanent in a general average way.

Till lately we knew of no other, and between us we seemed
To have what it took -- the adrenal courage of the tiger,
The chameleon's discretion, the modesty of the doe,
Or the fern's devotion to spatial necessity:
To practice one's specific civil virtue was not
So impossible after all; to cut our losses
And bury our dead was really quite easy: That was why
We were always able to say:"We are children of God
And our Father has never forsaken His People."

But then we were children: That was a moment ago,
Before an outrageous novelty had been introduced
Into our lives. Why were we never warned? Perhaps we were.

More about Auden here  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/w-h-auden

Each Man Kills the Thing He loves

Oscar Wilde (1854 -1900) was famous for snarky commentary and wry drama. He was not, however, famous for his faith. In 1895 he was caught out as a homosexual (illegal in England at that time) and was sentenced to two years hard labor in Reading Gaol. His "Ballad of Reading Gaol" (1898) is deeply religious, and, when I read it again this Advent after many years, I found it to be profound and heartbreaking. That his sentence greatly contributed to his death a few years after his release made this work even more gut-wrenching.

I'm sure you'll recognize all the biblical references in the quoted stanzas. :-)

An early stanza claims....

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.

There, and in the title to this post, is the most famous line from the poem. Is it true? Do we have a way of destroying what we love? In Reading Gaol, there was, according to the poem, a man condemned to hang for murdering his wife while in a fit of rage at her infidelity. The narrative tracks, in deadly rhythms, the last days of the man's life and the effect on the other inmates.

Many stanzas later....

Alas! It is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.

The Warders with their shoes of felt
Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
Gray figures on the floor.
And wondered why men knelt to pray
Who never prayed before.

We might feel awe as well. Hardened criminals weeping and praying for one in their midst who had, committed a much greater crime than theirs? Whence this shared guilt?

For me, Wilde had struck upon the notion of cosmic sin, shared evil, human failing. Can we look at another and see in their wrong doing, our own wrong, even if their crimes out weigh ours? As a mild mannered suburban housewife, am I able to look at a killer, a trafficker, a ponzy schemer and feel some of that guilt simply because I share his or her human nature?

Later on....

And all the woe that moved him so
That he gave that bitter cry,
And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,
None knew so well as I.

After the man is hanged his grave is left untended, even as he was untended in prison.

The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
By his dishonored grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
Whom Christ came down to save...

Of course, there is One tenderer than the "Chaplain."

And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan,
But God's eternal laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,
In prison cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean leper's house
with the scent of costliest nard.

And lastly of the hanged man...

And he of the swollen purple throat,
and stark and staring eyes,
waits for the holy hands that took
the Thief to Paradise:
and a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.


Upon his release from Reading Gaol, Wilde moved to France. He never returned to England, never wavered from his faith in God, and, his faith sure and true, never disavowed his homosexuality. Wilde died penniless two years later.

Rest in peace and rise in glory, Oscar.

More about the poet:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Wilde

Think of the atoms inside a stone. Think of the man who sits alone. Poetry-Only Advent

I look up the meaning of "riven" every time I read this poem. "Wrenched apart; split with force or violence, broken into pieces."

Every Riven Thing

God goes, belonging to every riven thing he’s made
sing his being simply by being
the thing it is:
stone and tree and sky, man who sees and sings and wonders why

God goes. Belonging, to every riven thing he’s made,
means a storm of peace.
Think of the atoms inside the stone.
Think of the man who sits alone
trying to will himself into the stillness where

God goes belonging. To every riven thing he’s made
there is given one shade
shaped exactly to the thing itself:
under the tree a darker tree;
under the man the only man to see

God goes belonging to every riven thing. He’s made
the things that bring him near,
made the mind that makes him go.
A part of what man knows,
apart from what man knows,

God goes belonging to every riven thing he’s made.

Christian Wiman, from Every Riven Thing (2010).

Here is a link to Wiman's page on Poetry Foundation. 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/christian-wiman

Coming Soon --- Poetry - Only Advent

Beginning next week, I am going to do something a bit different here on my blog.

Last year, I entered into the season of Advent with a resolve to be more thoughtful, more quiet. I managed to get all my Christmas shopping done before Advent, and I anticipated a different experience from my usual busy, crazy, whirlwind preparations for the great day of the Nativity of our Lord.

Now we all know God is not in the whirlwind. Neither is God in the mall, nor at the Post Office, nor even on the Internet. As an avid reader, I wondered how I could staunch my desires for deep theology, clever murder mysteries, profound guides to prayer. Then, as I was quickly reading through John Donne's "Batter My Heart Three-Personed God," it hit me...or it battered me.

I would take the entire four weeks and read nothing but poetry. Of course, I would read emails, recipes, instruction manuals as needed, but, recreationally, I would read only poetry. And that I would read slowly, repeatedly and with no goal. That's right. No goal. No end sight of completing all of Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman. No goal of even finishing one of the Four Quartets.

I love goals. I love lists and checking off items and making new lists, but I put that love away for the hope of a different love.

So...this Advent, I am hoping, goallessly, of course, to share on my blog, some of the poetry I read. No promises. There might be just a line or two. There might be more. I will,. however, conscientiously include the reference and, when possible, a link to the original. I may or may not write a few words of commentary about the poem, or how the poem gave me a new thought.  We'll see.

I am doing this, brothers and sisters, because I want to share what was for me a beautiful experience. No preaching. No recommendations. Just an open hand.

In Christ,
The Parishioner

The Peace of the Lord

Old timers like me will remember when passing the peace was not a part of our Sunday liturgy at all. Although the very first Book of Common Prayer in 1547 called for passing the peace, three years later, the 1552 revision dropped the practice. After 427 years, the peace finally re-appeared in the revised Prayer Book of 1979. It seems now as if it’s here to stay, and with good reason.

Consider the placement of the Peace in our liturgy. It occurs after the prayers of the people and the confession of sin. It occurs, significantly, before the offering and before we prepare for Holy Communion. What does this tell us? Passing the peace is an act of reconciliation. It is a prayer of welcoming the stranger into our community and loving our neighbor. It is a shedding of our earthly concerns and needs, and, with fellow congregants, turning ourselves toward God.

When this practice appeared in 1979, some of the faithful objected to it, complaining that it disrupted the liturgy and drew their attention away from worship. We were meant to think only of God during the service. Any attention given to a fellow congregant was a “distraction” and had to be avoided.

Suddenly, or so it seemed, instead of gazing at the altar or reverently bowing our heads, we were looking in the faces of our neighbors and smiling and shaking hands. Passing the peace is nothing less than an intentional, choreographed distraction! What could this possibly have to do with worship? What do Jane and Michael and Peter and Robin have to do with my faith, my worship, my prayer?

At Baptism, we are made members of the household of God (BCP 308).  Colossians states
“…let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body.” (3:14) Greeting each other in the name of the Lord does not diminish our attention to worship; it amplifies it. We worship on Sunday morning as the Body of Christ, as a corporate entity. By offering Christ’s peace to each other we are proclaiming this truth.

What sort of “peace” is it that we are passing? It’s more than an absence of war, it is much greater than a hope for the other’s comfort and happiness. And it’s a lot bigger than “Have a nice day.” Jesus says:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. (John 14:27)

Jesus is not talking about the sort of peace that we can understand from our own experience. It is not a peace “as the world gives.” His peace points to him and to his kingdom which is both now and yet to come. We stake our claim to that kingdom both for ourselves and for each other when we pass the peace. This is God’s own peace, and it is ours to give and receive because of our life in the body of Jesus Christ. 

A Year of Living Julianly Part V: End Times

Was Julian of Norwich ready to meet her maker?

I have just about come to the end of my Julian Year. For nearly 12 months, I have read in depth all of Julian’s Revelations of Divine Love as translated by Father John Julian, founder of the Order of Julian of Norwich, an order with which I am affiliated. A year's worth of days divided by 86 chapters means I have spent an average of four days on each chapter; I've also kept an extensive journal along the way. I have read Father J J’s (as he is known to us) notes as well as his helpful introduction and appendices. And yet, I am barely a beginner in understanding these magnificent words. Today, as this is the final report of my Julian Year, I will share some of Julian’s revelations about eternity. 

Significantly, our Lord did not show Julian “heaven”. Considering all that he did show her, this is very telling. She was shown hell which was uninhabited, by the way. How can this be, given the utter sinfulness of human kind and out utter depravity?

Funny thing about sin - it has no substance.

“And all this pain [of the world] was shown in one stroke and quickly passed over into comfort… But I saw not sin; for I believe it has no manner of essence, nor any portion of being, nor can it be known except by the pain caused by it.” Chapter 27

It’s like dust on a book jacket, crumbs on a place mat. Gone in an out breath. Yes we sin; sorrow and repentance are called for, but forgiveness is waiting. Should we expect punishment? Isn’t the pain and sorrow that we experience by sin enough punishment? 

“For it shall be seen before God by all his holy saints in joy without end that human nature has been tested in the fire of tribulation and no lack, no flaw found in it.” Chapter 63

The fire of tribulation renders us lacking nothing, flawless! I had to let that sink in for a moment. But this is how we were created, our true selves, image bearers of our creator, made in the likeness of God. It is our journey back to God through all our sin and pain that tests us, not as students are tested, but as silver is tested.

Moreover, by faith in Jesus, we share in his Passion. His suffering is our suffering. We share everything with him because he shares our humanity with us.

“I understood that, in our Lord’s meaning, we are now on his cross with him in our pains and our suffering, dying; and if we willingly remain on the same cross with his help and with his grace until the last moment, suddenly he shall change his appearance to us, and we shall be with him in heaven…and then all shall be brought to joy.”  Chapter 21

Oneness with Christ is a salient theme in Julian’s writing and this is the ground of all of her theology. We are one-ed to God by the act of creation. We are one-ed to God by the Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection. We are one-ed to God by the work of the Holy Spirit in us.  And, at the last day, we will be one-ed to God forever.  But there is a secret in this final act.

“There is a Deed which the blessed Trinity shall do on the Last Day, as I see it, and what that Deed shall be, and how it shall be done, is unknown to all creatures that are beneath Christ and shall remain so until when it is done." Chapter 32

"This is the Great Deed intended by our Lord God from without beginning, treasured and hidden in his blessed breast, known only to himself by which Deed he shall make all things well.” Chapter 32

Julian’s most quoted words are:

“Sin is inevitable [original text says‘behovely’}

but all shall be well

and all shall be well

and all manner of thing

shall be well” Chapter 27

I bristle when I hear these words quoted lightly as they so often are. People latch onto Julian as some sweet little optimist, a sheltered innocent woman, who has only ever sat in her room and prayed and never wrestled with doubt or despair. She was not that person. She was not an optimist; she was a person of faith who struggled with every vision she was given, who, even after this experience of Christ, had, at times, to force herself to pray. 

What seems simple at first can be the most convoluted, the most daunting. The soul, for example.

“And then our Lord opened my spiritual eye and showed me my soul in the midst of my inner self. I saw my soul as large as if it were an inner world and as if it were a blessed kingdom…” Chapter 67

Are our souls united to each other? Are we all one soul? Did Jung have it right? In this world of our soul resides our Lord Jesus. He will never remove himself. We may move away from him, but he awaits us always. The soul was created from love and joy and that love and joy is relentless, overpowering. This is “god with us” and is probably all we need to know. She is told:

“’Take this generally and see the graciousness of the Lord God as he reveals it to thee; for it is more honor to God for thee to see him in all things than in any special thing.’” Chapter 35

For Julian to content herself with partial knowledge was most difficult. She had questions and she wanted answers, but she didn’t always get them. What she did get, however were some promises.

“Bliss” is not a word we use very much anymore. Even “joy,” except in the British locution meaning “result,” has passed from our usage, appropriately, I think, because these words evoke a state that cannot be compared to anything we know in this life, certainly nothing we can attain ourselves.  For C.S. Lewis joy was a momentary glimpse of God’s kingdom.* No wonder there is a ode to it. For Julian it is what awaits us. It has awaited us from the beginning.

“For as truly as we shall be in the bliss of God without end, praising him and thanking him, just as truly we have been in the foresight of God loved and known in his endless purpose from without beginning.” Chapter 85

In Julian's time, Christians were greatly concerned with eternity. It was the promise of happiness, rest and freedom from pain and suffering that focused their hearts on God. To achieve this promise, the faithful Christian had to triumph over sin. He or she feared hell and strove to avoid it. Effort was ceaseless. The need to be ready for death at all times drove faithful people to extremes of self denial. It was in this time that the church began to be accused of corruption, selling "indulgences," the literal means to eternal reward. We don't think very much about these things nowadays. Some say that the church has gone soft on sin. Certainly in the Episcopal Church, a parishioner can go for years without ever hearing the word "sin" much less "hell." 

I think Julian would be very happy in our church. I think our proclamation of the love of God in Christ would suit her well. She would love the words of our Prayer Book. And I think our deep focus on the life of Jesus and its meaning would feed her, as it feeds us. I definitely think she would love our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry and his loud and bold proclamation of The Jesus Movement.

 

She might not be tempted away from her anchorage to attend one of our ice cream socials, but I think she would remember us in her prayers .... with a saintly smile.

*Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis

I Saw Satan Fall Like Lightening

Last month, on my way to the affiliates' retreat with the Order of Julian of Norwich, I had an encounter at a rest stop on I 90 in Wisconsin. This was my second time at the retreat. Last year it was a wonderful, beautiful six days of bliss and blessing. It was likewise this year, but the blessing started on the way.

I had stopped to have my packed lunch of egg salad, pretzels and a Diet Cherry Coke. Sitting at a picnic table that happened to be right in line with my rental car, a red Chevy Impala, another Chevy Impala pulled in right next to mine. This one was white, but otherwise identical to mine. A couple, a bit older than I am maybe, got out and did a massive double take when they saw the cars together. They looked over at me and asked, "Is that your car?" I replied that it was and they said, "Ours is just like it." "Mine's a rental, so I can't take credit," I replied."So's ours! Wanna trade?" asked the man. We all laughed. "Better not," I said, "I signed some papers." More laughter. And off they went.

No, this was not a transformative exchange. We did not "connect" in any soulful way. They didn't ask me where I was headed and then have a conversion when I told them. Nothing like that. But as they got in their white Impala and drove off, I thought what a lovely encounter that was. How pure it was! There was no subtext, no positioning, no irony, no assessment.

Then I saw Satan fall like lightening.

OK, I didn't quite see it that way at the time. Hearing Luke's gospel on Sunday* though allowed me to think that maybe my encounter was a bit weightier than I thought. Remembering these lovely people has made me smile many times since we spoke. I have prayed for them.

What I did see was something like a tapestry of all creation, large and blue with many colored threads in patterns that I couldn't make out. Most of it was unspeakably lovely. Parts of it a bit worn. After the people drove off, I saw a tiny part of it rewoven, right there before my eyes.

"We did that" I thought to myself. Just a few nice words, not even rising to the level of kindness. Just middling friendliness had the power to heal something in the world. And then I heard Satan berating himself for a missed opportunity. "She could have looked down on how these people were amused at something so ordinary. She could have seen herself as much more sophisticated. She could have been cold, or at least cool. Why couldn't she have mistrusted them or they her?" Very C.S. Lewis. Very Screwtape Letters.

When Jesus sent his disciples out to minister to the people in last Sunday's gospel account, he sent them to do his very own work. And that's what they did. And the world was better. The tapestry was mended. And Satan hated it. He fell from the sky like lightening. Because the kingdom of God had come near.

We are those disciples today. We are meant to heal, restore, bless and befriend. It seems the tiniest little act can have wide reach. The sending comes from Jesus. We can only consent, and then delight in it.

*Luke 10:1-11,16-20