In the "Author's Note" at the beginning of the novel, Sayers writes an apology to the "City and University of Oxford" for shifting some streets, adding a college, and for "having saddled [Balliol College] with so wayward an alumnus as Peter Wimsey... ." But the first paragraph concludes with this sentence: "Detective-story writers are obliged by their disagreeable profession to invent startling and unpleasant incidents and people, and are (I presume) at liberty to imagine what might happen if such incidents and people were to intrude upon the life of an innocent and well-ordered community; ... ." It is precisely the "startling and unpleasant incidents and people" that she addresses in this novel, and not just the outward form of a very unhappy story that makes up the detective puzzle. She is also addressing the intrusion of women into the "innocent (?) and well-ordered community" of men in ancient and newer roles, and against their expectations.
Right at the outset of the story, when Harriet Vane arrives at Shrewsbury College for the Gaudy (like a reunion), all of the women gathered - the oldest of whom, like Sayers, had fought for women to receive degrees at all - are talking about proper roles. As she meets old classmates, Harriet observes how some have seemingly thrown away their academic achievements for the traditional domestic virtues, while others have maintained a solid professional life despite the hazards of the culture. (Gaudy Night was written in 1937. This period between the World Wars in England is a fascinating time of opening all kinds of pathways for women who found themselves in a culture where so many of the men had died in warfare.)
At the end of chapter 1, Sayers puts these words in the mouth of one of the scholars of the college. Harriet says to Miss de Vine, at the end of a conversation about detachment and feelings, "...between one desire and another, how is one to know which things are really of overmastering importance?" Miss de Vine replies, "We can only know that ... when they have overmastered us."
A major theme of the novel is that of proper work and of finding your own passion and fulfilling it. In a conversation with a woman who had been an outstanding scholar, but had married a Welsh farmer and given it all up, Harriet says, "I'm sure one should do one's own job, however trivial, and not persuade one's self into doing somebody else's, however noble. And the theme of women making their way in the world of men returns time and again. Miss Hillyard, the history tutor and no fan of Harriet, has a conversation with her where she talks about women at the university. She says, "All the men have been amazingly kind and sympathetic about the Women's Colleges. Certainly. But you won't find them appointing women to big University posts. That would never do. The women might perform their work in a way beyond criticism. But they are quite pleased to see us playing with our little toys." This theme of the "proper job" and of how doing influences all of our relationships runs through every level of this story, from the relationship of the Women's Colleges to the rest of the University, to the relationship between Peter and Harriet, to the relationships of the women among themselves, and to the basic effect of the tragic story of the mystery.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Gaudy Night
On Friday a group of us are going to see the Taproot Theater's adaptation of Dorothy L. Sayers' novel Gaudy Night. One theater-goer, a Holden friend from Minneapolis who's here for a conference, first suggested the outing. I'd seen the advertizing, but hadn't yet determined to go. But she noted a remark I had made long ago: If I were marooned on a desert island the books I'd like would be the Bible and Gaudy Night, and not necessarily in that order!
I believe I first read Gaudy Night in 1971. The feminist movement was beginning to be in full swing, and my life had certainly been filled both with opportunities to grow as an independent young woman, and with many terrific role models. This book was the first one that described the cultural and historical issues around women in a way that was quite powerful for me.
This upcoming theater outing has made me very reflective about my own history as a woman in a "man's job," and of the whole sweep of the last century around these changes. And there is a little anxiety that we are moving a bit backwards in this regard.
So this week I'm going to re-read Gaudy Night and reflect on my reading in this blog. This morning's Seattle Times published an editorial that bears reading in the context: http://seattletimes.com/html/opinion/2019291724_parkercolumngloriaxml.html
I believe I first read Gaudy Night in 1971. The feminist movement was beginning to be in full swing, and my life had certainly been filled both with opportunities to grow as an independent young woman, and with many terrific role models. This book was the first one that described the cultural and historical issues around women in a way that was quite powerful for me.
This upcoming theater outing has made me very reflective about my own history as a woman in a "man's job," and of the whole sweep of the last century around these changes. And there is a little anxiety that we are moving a bit backwards in this regard.
So this week I'm going to re-read Gaudy Night and reflect on my reading in this blog. This morning's Seattle Times published an editorial that bears reading in the context: http://seattletimes.com/html/opinion/2019291724_parkercolumngloriaxml.html
Monday, May 7, 2012
Tofino
A beautiful morning with a 0.0 ft. tide. Chesterman Beach at its best.
Larry has been here since Wednesday, I arrived yesterday after an intense four days of a women's choir festival in Vancouver. Check out the article from the Vancouver Sun. http://www.vancouversun.com/entertainment/Elektra+Women+Choir+helps+create+Tapestry/6555158/story.html
Larry has been here since Wednesday, I arrived yesterday after an intense four days of a women's choir festival in Vancouver. Check out the article from the Vancouver Sun. http://www.vancouversun.com/entertainment/Elektra+Women+Choir+helps+create+Tapestry/6555158/story.html
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Easter Day
Break the box and shed the nard;
Stop not now to count the cost;
Hither bring pearl, opal, sard;
Reck not what the poor have lost;
Upon Christ throw all away:
Know ye, this is Easter Day.
Build God’s church and deck the shrine;
Empty though it be on earth;
Ye have kept your choicest wine-
Let it flow for heavenly mirth;
Pluck the harp and breathe the horn:
Know ye not 'tis Easter mom?
Gather gladness from the skies;
Take a lesson from the ground;
Flowers do ope their heavenward eyes
And a Spring-time joy have found;
Earth throws Winter's robes away,
Decks herself for Easter Day.
Beauty now for ashes wear,
Perfumes for the garb of woe.
Chaplets for dishevelled hair,
Dances for sad footsteps slow;
Open wide your hearts that they
Let in joy this Easter Day.
Seek God's house in happy throng;
Crowded let the table be;
Mingle praises, prayer and song,
Singing to the Trinity.
Henceforth let your souls alway
Make each morn an Easter Day.
-- Gerald Manley Hopkins
Stop not now to count the cost;
Hither bring pearl, opal, sard;
Reck not what the poor have lost;
Upon Christ throw all away:
Know ye, this is Easter Day.
Build God’s church and deck the shrine;
Empty though it be on earth;
Ye have kept your choicest wine-
Let it flow for heavenly mirth;
Pluck the harp and breathe the horn:
Know ye not 'tis Easter mom?
Gather gladness from the skies;
Take a lesson from the ground;
Flowers do ope their heavenward eyes
And a Spring-time joy have found;
Earth throws Winter's robes away,
Decks herself for Easter Day.
Beauty now for ashes wear,
Perfumes for the garb of woe.
Chaplets for dishevelled hair,
Dances for sad footsteps slow;
Open wide your hearts that they
Let in joy this Easter Day.
Seek God's house in happy throng;
Crowded let the table be;
Mingle praises, prayer and song,
Singing to the Trinity.
Henceforth let your souls alway
Make each morn an Easter Day.
-- Gerald Manley Hopkins
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Holy Saturday.
All night had shout of men and cry
Of woeful women filled his way;
Until that noon of sombre sky
On Friday, clamour and display
Smote him; no solitude had he,
No silence, since Gethsemane.
Public was death; but power, but might,
But life again, but victory,
Were hushed within the dead of night,
The shuttered dark, the secrecy.
And all alone, alone, alone,
He rose again behind the stone.
-Alice Meynell
Of woeful women filled his way;
Until that noon of sombre sky
On Friday, clamour and display
Smote him; no solitude had he,
No silence, since Gethsemane.
Public was death; but power, but might,
But life again, but victory,
Were hushed within the dead of night,
The shuttered dark, the secrecy.
And all alone, alone, alone,
He rose again behind the stone.
-Alice Meynell
Friday, April 6, 2012
Good Friday
Two hymn texts for today.
O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
O sacred head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown;
O sacred head, what glory,
what bliss till now was thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.
How pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn;
how does thy face now languish,
which once was bright as morn!
Thy grief and bitter passion
were all for sinners' gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine forever,
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to thee.
Lord, be my consolation;
shield me when I must die;
remind me of thy passion
when my last hour draws nigh.
These eyes, new faith receiving,
from thee shall never move;
for all who die believing
die safely in thy love.
Text: Paul Gerhardt, 1607–1676, based on Arnulf of Louvain, d. 1250;
tr. Evangelical Lutheran Worship composite
Lord, Thee I Love with All My Heart
Lord, thee I love with all my heart;
I pray thee, ne'er from me depart;
with tender mercy cheer me.
Earth has no pleasure I would share,
yea, heav'n itself were void and bare
if thou, Lord, were not near me.
And should my heart for sorrow break,
my trust in thee can nothing shake.
Thou art the portion I have sought;
thy precious blood my soul has bought.
Lord Jesus Christ,
my God and Lord, my God and Lord,
forsake me not! I trust thy word.
Yea, Lord, thy own rich bounty gave
my body, soul, and all I have
in this poor life of labor.
Lord, grant that I in ev'ry place
may glorify thy lavish grace
and serve and help my neighbor.
Let no false teaching me beguile,
let Satan not my soul defile.
Give strength and patience unto me
to bear my cross and follow thee.
Lord Jesus Christ,
my God and Lord, my God and Lord,
in death thy comfort still afford.
Lord, let at last thine angels come,
to Abr'ham's bosom bear me home,
that I may die unfearing;
and in its narrow chamber keep
my body safe in peaceful sleep
until thy reappearing.
And then from death awaken me,
that these mine eyes with joy may see,
O Son of God, thy glorious face,
my Savior and my fount of grace.
Lord Jesus Christ,
my prayer attend, my prayer attend,
and I will praise thee without end!
Text: Martin Schalling, 1532-1608; tr. Catherine Winkworth, 1827-1878
O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
O sacred head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown;
O sacred head, what glory,
what bliss till now was thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.
How pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn;
how does thy face now languish,
which once was bright as morn!
Thy grief and bitter passion
were all for sinners' gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine forever,
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to thee.
Lord, be my consolation;
shield me when I must die;
remind me of thy passion
when my last hour draws nigh.
These eyes, new faith receiving,
from thee shall never move;
for all who die believing
die safely in thy love.
Text: Paul Gerhardt, 1607–1676, based on Arnulf of Louvain, d. 1250;
tr. Evangelical Lutheran Worship composite
Lord, Thee I Love with All My Heart
Lord, thee I love with all my heart;
I pray thee, ne'er from me depart;
with tender mercy cheer me.
Earth has no pleasure I would share,
yea, heav'n itself were void and bare
if thou, Lord, were not near me.
And should my heart for sorrow break,
my trust in thee can nothing shake.
Thou art the portion I have sought;
thy precious blood my soul has bought.
Lord Jesus Christ,
my God and Lord, my God and Lord,
forsake me not! I trust thy word.
Yea, Lord, thy own rich bounty gave
my body, soul, and all I have
in this poor life of labor.
Lord, grant that I in ev'ry place
may glorify thy lavish grace
and serve and help my neighbor.
Let no false teaching me beguile,
let Satan not my soul defile.
Give strength and patience unto me
to bear my cross and follow thee.
Lord Jesus Christ,
my God and Lord, my God and Lord,
in death thy comfort still afford.
Lord, let at last thine angels come,
to Abr'ham's bosom bear me home,
that I may die unfearing;
and in its narrow chamber keep
my body safe in peaceful sleep
until thy reappearing.
And then from death awaken me,
that these mine eyes with joy may see,
O Son of God, thy glorious face,
my Savior and my fount of grace.
Lord Jesus Christ,
my prayer attend, my prayer attend,
and I will praise thee without end!
Text: Martin Schalling, 1532-1608; tr. Catherine Winkworth, 1827-1878
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Lent, Day 37. Maundy Thursday
St. Peter once: ‘Lord, dost thou wash my feet?’
—Much more I say: Lord, dost thou stand and I
At my closed heart more rugged than a rock,
Bolted and barred, for thy soft touch unmeet,
Nor garnished nor in any wise made sweet?
Owls roost within and dancing satyrs mock.
Lord, I have heard the crowing of the cock
And have not wept: ah, Lord, though knowest it,
Yet still I hear thee knocking, still I hear:
‘Open to me, look on me eye to eye,
That I may wring thy heart and make it whole;
And teach thee love because I hold thee dear
And sup with thee in gladness soul with soul,
And sup with thee in glory by and by.’
-Christina Georgina Rossetti
—Much more I say: Lord, dost thou stand and I
At my closed heart more rugged than a rock,
Bolted and barred, for thy soft touch unmeet,
Nor garnished nor in any wise made sweet?
Owls roost within and dancing satyrs mock.
Lord, I have heard the crowing of the cock
And have not wept: ah, Lord, though knowest it,
Yet still I hear thee knocking, still I hear:
‘Open to me, look on me eye to eye,
That I may wring thy heart and make it whole;
And teach thee love because I hold thee dear
And sup with thee in gladness soul with soul,
And sup with thee in glory by and by.’
-Christina Georgina Rossetti
Lent, Day 36. Wednesday in Holy Week
Come suddenly, O Lord, or slowly come,
I wait Thy will, Thy servant ready is;
Thou hast prepared Thy follower a home,
The heaven in which Thou dwellest, too, is his.
Come in the morn, at noon, or midnight deep,
Come, for Thy servant still doth watch and pray
E’en when the world around is sunk in sleep,
I wake, and long to see Thy glorious day.
I would not fix the time, the day, the hour,
When Thou with all Thine angels shalt appear;
When in Thy kingdom Thou shalt come with power,
E’en now, perhaps, the promised day is near!
For though, in slumber deep, the world may lie,
And e’en Thy church forget Thy great command;
Still year by year Thy coming draweth nigh,
And in its power Thy kingdom is at hand.
Not in some future world alone 't will be,
Beyond the grave, beyond the bounds of Time;
But on earth Thy glory we shall see,
And share Thy triumph, peaceful, pure, sublime.
Lord! help me that I faint not, weary grow,
Nor at Thy coming slumber too, and sleep;
For Thou has promised, and full well I know;
Thou wilt to us Thy word of promise keep.
-Jones Very
I wait Thy will, Thy servant ready is;
Thou hast prepared Thy follower a home,
The heaven in which Thou dwellest, too, is his.
Come in the morn, at noon, or midnight deep,
Come, for Thy servant still doth watch and pray
E’en when the world around is sunk in sleep,
I wake, and long to see Thy glorious day.
I would not fix the time, the day, the hour,
When Thou with all Thine angels shalt appear;
When in Thy kingdom Thou shalt come with power,
E’en now, perhaps, the promised day is near!
For though, in slumber deep, the world may lie,
And e’en Thy church forget Thy great command;
Still year by year Thy coming draweth nigh,
And in its power Thy kingdom is at hand.
Not in some future world alone 't will be,
Beyond the grave, beyond the bounds of Time;
But on earth Thy glory we shall see,
And share Thy triumph, peaceful, pure, sublime.
Lord! help me that I faint not, weary grow,
Nor at Thy coming slumber too, and sleep;
For Thou has promised, and full well I know;
Thou wilt to us Thy word of promise keep.
-Jones Very
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Lent, Day 35. Tuesday in Holy Week.
Our flesh that was a battleground
Shows now the morning-break;
The ancient deities are drowned
For they eternal sake.
Now that the past is left behind,
Fling wide the garment’s hem
To Keep us one with Thee in mind,
Thou Christ of Bethlehem.
The thorny wreath may ridge our brow,
The spear may mar our side,
And on white wood from a scented bough
We may be crucified;
Yet no assaults the old gods make
Upon our agony
Shall swerve our footsteps from the wake
Of Thine toward Calvary.
And if we hunger now and thirst,
Grant our withholders may,
When heaven’s constellations burst
Upon Thy crowning day,
Be fed by us, and given to see
Thy mercy in our eyes,
When Bethlehem and Calvary
Are merged in Paradise.
–Countee Cullen
Shows now the morning-break;
The ancient deities are drowned
For they eternal sake.
Now that the past is left behind,
Fling wide the garment’s hem
To Keep us one with Thee in mind,
Thou Christ of Bethlehem.
The thorny wreath may ridge our brow,
The spear may mar our side,
And on white wood from a scented bough
We may be crucified;
Yet no assaults the old gods make
Upon our agony
Shall swerve our footsteps from the wake
Of Thine toward Calvary.
And if we hunger now and thirst,
Grant our withholders may,
When heaven’s constellations burst
Upon Thy crowning day,
Be fed by us, and given to see
Thy mercy in our eyes,
When Bethlehem and Calvary
Are merged in Paradise.
–Countee Cullen
Monday, April 2, 2012
Lent, Day 34. Monday in Holy Week
The Donkey
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
-G. K. Chesterton
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
-G. K. Chesterton
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Palm Sunday
A stable-lamp is lighted
Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
And straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven,
A stall become a shrine.
This child through David's city
Shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
Though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway
To pave his kingdom come.
Yet he shall be forsaken,
And yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
For stony hearts of men:
God's blood upon the spearhead,
God's love refused again.
But now, as at the ending,
The low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
In praises of the child,
By whose descent among us,
The worlds are reconciled.
-Richard Wilbur
Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
And straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven,
A stall become a shrine.
This child through David's city
Shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
Though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway
To pave his kingdom come.
Yet he shall be forsaken,
And yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
For stony hearts of men:
God's blood upon the spearhead,
God's love refused again.
But now, as at the ending,
The low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
In praises of the child,
By whose descent among us,
The worlds are reconciled.
-Richard Wilbur
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Lent, Day 33
Commemoration of John Donne, Poet, died 1631.
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
-John Donne
-John Donne
Friday, March 30, 2012
Lent, Day 32
You, God, who live next door--
If at times, through the long night, I trouble you
with my urgent knocking--
this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom.
I know you're all alone in that room.
If you should be thirsty, there's no one
to get you a glass of water.
I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign!
I'm right here.
As it happens, the wall between us
is very thin. Why couldn't a cry
from one of us
break it down? It would crumble
easily,
it would barely make a sound.
-Rainier Maria Rilke, tr.Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
If at times, through the long night, I trouble you
with my urgent knocking--
this is why: I hear you breathe so seldom.
I know you're all alone in that room.
If you should be thirsty, there's no one
to get you a glass of water.
I wait listening, always. Just give me a sign!
I'm right here.
As it happens, the wall between us
is very thin. Why couldn't a cry
from one of us
break it down? It would crumble
easily,
it would barely make a sound.
-Rainier Maria Rilke, tr.Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Lent, Day 31
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
-Dylan Thomas
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
-Dylan Thomas
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Lent, Day 30
The Convert
After one moment when I bowed my head
And the whole world turned over and came upright,
And I came out where the old road shone white.
I walked the ways and heard what all men said,
Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,
Being not unlovable but strange and light;
Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite
But softly, as men smile about the dead
The sages have a hundred maps to give
That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,
They rattle reason out through many a sieve
That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:
And all these things are less than dust to me
Because my name is Lazarus and I live.
-G. K. Chesteron
After one moment when I bowed my head
And the whole world turned over and came upright,
And I came out where the old road shone white.
I walked the ways and heard what all men said,
Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,
Being not unlovable but strange and light;
Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite
But softly, as men smile about the dead
The sages have a hundred maps to give
That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,
They rattle reason out through many a sieve
That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:
And all these things are less than dust to me
Because my name is Lazarus and I live.
-G. K. Chesteron
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Lent, Day 29
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for not abandoning me when I abandoned you.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for offering your hand of love in my darkest, most lonely moments.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for putting up with such a stubborn soul as mine.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for loving me more than I love myself.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for drawing out the goodness in all people, even including me.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for repaying our sin with your love.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for being constant and unchanging, amidst all the changes of the world.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for your countless blessings on me and on all your creatures.
-Teresa of Avila
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for offering your hand of love in my darkest, most lonely moments.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for putting up with such a stubborn soul as mine.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for loving me more than I love myself.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for drawing out the goodness in all people, even including me.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for repaying our sin with your love.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for being constant and unchanging, amidst all the changes of the world.
May you be blessed forever, Lord, for your countless blessings on me and on all your creatures.
-Teresa of Avila
Monday, March 26, 2012
Lent, Day 28
(For those of you who see The Writer's Almanac each day, this is a repeat. But a good one.)
A Prayer in Spring
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.
-Robert Frost
A Prayer in Spring
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.
-Robert Frost
Sunday, March 25, 2012
The Fifth Sunday in Lent
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"Come unto me and rest;
lay down, thou weary one, lay down
thy head upon my breast."
I came to Jesus as I was,
so weary, worn, and sad;
I found in him a resting place,
and he has made me glad.
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"Behold, I freely give
the living water; thirsty one,
stoop down and drink, and live."
I came to Jesus, and I drank
of that life-giving stream;
my thirst was quenched, my soul revived,
and now I live in him.
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"I am this dark world's light;
look unto me, thy morn shall rise,
and all thy day be bright."
I looked to Jesus, and I found
in him my Star, my Sun;
and in that light of life I'll walk
till traveling days are done.
-Horatius Bonar
"Come unto me and rest;
lay down, thou weary one, lay down
thy head upon my breast."
I came to Jesus as I was,
so weary, worn, and sad;
I found in him a resting place,
and he has made me glad.
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"Behold, I freely give
the living water; thirsty one,
stoop down and drink, and live."
I came to Jesus, and I drank
of that life-giving stream;
my thirst was quenched, my soul revived,
and now I live in him.
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"I am this dark world's light;
look unto me, thy morn shall rise,
and all thy day be bright."
I looked to Jesus, and I found
in him my Star, my Sun;
and in that light of life I'll walk
till traveling days are done.
-Horatius Bonar
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Lent, Day 27
The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
perpetual revolution of configured stars,
perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.
-T. S. Eliot
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
perpetual revolution of configured stars,
perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.
-T. S. Eliot
Friday, March 23, 2012
Lent, Day 26
Forgive me, Lord, my sins
The sins of my youth,
The sins of the present;
The sins I laid upon myself in an ill pleasure,
The sins I cast upon others in an ill example;
The sins which are manifest to the whole world,
The sins which I have labored to hide from mine acquaintance,
From mine own conscience,
And even from my memory;
My crying sins and my whispering sins,
My ignorant sins and my willful;
Sins against my superiors, equals, servants,
Against my lovers and benefactors,
Sins against myself, mine own body, mine own soul,
Sins against thee, O almighty Father, O merciful Son,
O blessed Spirit of God.
Forgive me, O Lord, through the merits of thine Anointed, my Savior, Jesus Christ.
-John Donne
The sins of my youth,
The sins of the present;
The sins I laid upon myself in an ill pleasure,
The sins I cast upon others in an ill example;
The sins which are manifest to the whole world,
The sins which I have labored to hide from mine acquaintance,
From mine own conscience,
And even from my memory;
My crying sins and my whispering sins,
My ignorant sins and my willful;
Sins against my superiors, equals, servants,
Against my lovers and benefactors,
Sins against myself, mine own body, mine own soul,
Sins against thee, O almighty Father, O merciful Son,
O blessed Spirit of God.
Forgive me, O Lord, through the merits of thine Anointed, my Savior, Jesus Christ.
-John Donne
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Lent, Day 25
I thought that I had lost thee; but, behold!
Thou comest to me from the horizon low,
Across the fields outspread of green and gold--
Fair carpet for thy feet to come and go.
Whence I know not, or how to me thou art come!--
Not less my spirit with calm bliss doth glow,
Meeting thee only thus, in nature vague and dumb.
-George MacDonald
Thou comest to me from the horizon low,
Across the fields outspread of green and gold--
Fair carpet for thy feet to come and go.
Whence I know not, or how to me thou art come!--
Not less my spirit with calm bliss doth glow,
Meeting thee only thus, in nature vague and dumb.
-George MacDonald
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Lent, Day 24
Commemoration of Thomas Cranmer (died 1556), Archbishop of Canterbury, author of The Book of Common Prayer (1549). This familiar prayer of confession was translated by Cranmer for The Book of Common Prayer from the Latin in the Sarum Missal.
Almighty God, unto Whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from Whom no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee, and worthily magnify Thy holy Name: through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Almighty God, unto Whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from Whom no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee, and worthily magnify Thy holy Name: through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Lent, Days 22 and 23
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
-Emily Dickinson
Spring would be a dreary season
Were there nothing else but Spring!
-Anonymous
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
-Emily Dickinson
Spring would be a dreary season
Were there nothing else but Spring!
-Anonymous
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The Fourth Sunday in Lent
The Night
THROUGH that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine,
And face the moon :
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.
Most blest believer he !
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see
When Thou didst rise !
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the Sun !
O who will tell me, where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour ?
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower ;
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fulness of the Deity ?
No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carv'd stone,
But His own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone ;
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.
Dear Night ! this world's defeat ;
The stop to busy fools ; cares check and curb ;
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb !
Christ's* progress, and His prayer-time ;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime.
God's silent, searching flight ;
When my Lord's head is fill'd with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ;
His still, soft call ;
His knocking-time ; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.
Were all my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent ;
Then I in Heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.
But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To ev'ry mire ;
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.
There is in God—some say—
A deep, but dazzling darkness ; as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
O for that Night ! where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim !
-Henry Vaughan
THROUGH that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine,
And face the moon :
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.
Most blest believer he !
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see
When Thou didst rise !
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the Sun !
O who will tell me, where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour ?
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower ;
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fulness of the Deity ?
No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carv'd stone,
But His own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone ;
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.
Dear Night ! this world's defeat ;
The stop to busy fools ; cares check and curb ;
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb !
Christ's* progress, and His prayer-time ;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime.
God's silent, searching flight ;
When my Lord's head is fill'd with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ;
His still, soft call ;
His knocking-time ; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.
Were all my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent ;
Then I in Heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.
But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To ev'ry mire ;
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.
There is in God—some say—
A deep, but dazzling darkness ; as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
O for that Night ! where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim !
-Henry Vaughan
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Lent, Day 22
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through the belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.
I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism,
Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,
Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension,
Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom.
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of Cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In prayers of patriarchs,
In predictions of prophets,
In preaching of apostles,
In faith of confessors,
In innocence of holy virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.
I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear
Alone and in multitude.
...
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness,
Of the Creator of Creation.
-St. Patrick
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through the belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.
I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism,
Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,
Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension,
Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom.
I arise today
Through the strength of the love of Cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In prayers of patriarchs,
In predictions of prophets,
In preaching of apostles,
In faith of confessors,
In innocence of holy virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.
I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear
Alone and in multitude.
...
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness,
Of the Creator of Creation.
-St. Patrick
Friday, March 16, 2012
Lent, Day 21
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and sustain in me a willing spirit.
-Psalm 51:10-12
and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and sustain in me a willing spirit.
-Psalm 51:10-12
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Lent, Day 20
LORD, if this night my journey end,
I thank Thee first for many a friend,
The sturdy and unquestioned piers
That run beneath my bridge of years.
And next, for all the love I gave
To things and men this side the grave,
Wisely or not, since I can prove
There always is much good in love.
Next, for the power thou gavest me
To view the whole world mirthfully,
For laughter, paraclete of pain,
Like April suns across the rain.
Also that, being not too wise
To do things foolish in men's eyes,
I gained experience by this,
And saw life somewhat as it is.
Next, for the joy of labour done
And burdens shouldered in the sun;
Nor less, for shame of labour lost,
And meekness born of a barren boast.
For every fair and useless thing
That bids men pause from labouring
To look and find the larkspur blue
And marigolds of a different hue;
For eyes to see and ears to hear,
For tongue to speak and thews to bear,
For hands to handle, feet to go,
For life, I give Thee thanks also.
For all things merry, quaint and strange,
For sound and silence, strength, and change,
And last, for death, which only gives
Value to every thing that lives;
For these, good Lord that madest me,
I praise Thy name; since, verily,
I of my joy have had no dearth
Though this night were my last on earth.
-Dorothy L. Sayers
I thank Thee first for many a friend,
The sturdy and unquestioned piers
That run beneath my bridge of years.
And next, for all the love I gave
To things and men this side the grave,
Wisely or not, since I can prove
There always is much good in love.
Next, for the power thou gavest me
To view the whole world mirthfully,
For laughter, paraclete of pain,
Like April suns across the rain.
Also that, being not too wise
To do things foolish in men's eyes,
I gained experience by this,
And saw life somewhat as it is.
Next, for the joy of labour done
And burdens shouldered in the sun;
Nor less, for shame of labour lost,
And meekness born of a barren boast.
For every fair and useless thing
That bids men pause from labouring
To look and find the larkspur blue
And marigolds of a different hue;
For eyes to see and ears to hear,
For tongue to speak and thews to bear,
For hands to handle, feet to go,
For life, I give Thee thanks also.
For all things merry, quaint and strange,
For sound and silence, strength, and change,
And last, for death, which only gives
Value to every thing that lives;
For these, good Lord that madest me,
I praise Thy name; since, verily,
I of my joy have had no dearth
Though this night were my last on earth.
-Dorothy L. Sayers
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Lent, Day 19
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, & bid thee feed
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight;
Softest clothing, wooly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek, & he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
-William Blake
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, & bid thee feed
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight;
Softest clothing, wooly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek, & he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
-William Blake
Lent, Day 18
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, 0 God, I am Thine!
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, March 4,1946
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, 0 God, I am Thine!
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, March 4,1946
Lent, Day 17
Because someone once dared
to want you,
I know that we, too, may want you.
When gold is in the mountain
and we've ravaged the depths
until we've given up digging,
it will be brought forth into day
by the river that mines
the silences of stone.
Even when we don't desire it,
God is ripening.
-Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
to want you,
I know that we, too, may want you.
When gold is in the mountain
and we've ravaged the depths
until we've given up digging,
it will be brought forth into day
by the river that mines
the silences of stone.
Even when we don't desire it,
God is ripening.
-Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
Sunday, March 11, 2012
The Third Sunday in Lent
God the sculptor of the mountains,
God the miller of the sand,
God the jeweler of the heavens,
God the potter of the land:
you are womb of all creation,
we are formless; shape us now.
God the nuisance to the Pharaoh,
God the cleaver of the sea,
God the pillar in the darkness,
God the beacon of the free:
you are fount of all deliv'rance,
we are sightless; lead us now.
God the dresser of the vineyard,
God the planter of the wheat,
God the reaper of the harvest,
God the source of all we eat:
you are host at ev'ry table,
we are hungry; feed us now.
God the unexpected infant,
God the calm, determined youth,
God the table-turning prophet,
God the resurrected truth:
you are present ev'ry moment,
we are searching; meet us now.
- John Thornburg,
God the miller of the sand,
God the jeweler of the heavens,
God the potter of the land:
you are womb of all creation,
we are formless; shape us now.
God the nuisance to the Pharaoh,
God the cleaver of the sea,
God the pillar in the darkness,
God the beacon of the free:
you are fount of all deliv'rance,
we are sightless; lead us now.
God the dresser of the vineyard,
God the planter of the wheat,
God the reaper of the harvest,
God the source of all we eat:
you are host at ev'ry table,
we are hungry; feed us now.
God the unexpected infant,
God the calm, determined youth,
God the table-turning prophet,
God the resurrected truth:
you are present ev'ry moment,
we are searching; meet us now.
- John Thornburg,
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Lent, Day 16
I don’t know how my mother walked her trouble down
I don’t know how my father stood his ground
I don’t know how my people survive slavery
I do remember, that’s why I believe
I don’t know how the rivers overflow their banks
I don’t know how the snow falls and covers the ground
I don’t know how the hurricane sweeps through the land every now and then
Standing in a rainstorm, I believe
I don’t know how the angels woke me up this morning soon
I don’t know how the blood still runs thru my veins
I don’t know how I rate to run another day
Standing in a rainstorm I believe
My God calls to me in the morning dew
The power of the universe knows my name
Gave me a song to sing and sent me on my way
I raise my voice for justice I believe
-Bernice Johnson Reagon
I don’t know how my father stood his ground
I don’t know how my people survive slavery
I do remember, that’s why I believe
I don’t know how the rivers overflow their banks
I don’t know how the snow falls and covers the ground
I don’t know how the hurricane sweeps through the land every now and then
Standing in a rainstorm, I believe
I don’t know how the angels woke me up this morning soon
I don’t know how the blood still runs thru my veins
I don’t know how I rate to run another day
Standing in a rainstorm I believe
My God calls to me in the morning dew
The power of the universe knows my name
Gave me a song to sing and sent me on my way
I raise my voice for justice I believe
-Bernice Johnson Reagon
Friday, March 9, 2012
Lent, Days 14 and 15
Sorrow and joy,
striking suddenly on our startled senses
seem, at the first approach, all but impossible
of just distinction one from the other,
even as frost and heat at the first keen contact
burn us alike
Joy and sorrow,
hurled from the height of heaven in meteor fashion,
flash in an arc of shining menace o'er us.
Those they touch are left
stricken amid the fragments
of their colourless, usual lives.
Imperturbable, mighty,
ruinous and compelling,
sorrow and joy
--summoned or all unsought for--
processionally enter.
Those they encounter
they transfigure, investing them
with strange gravity
and a spirit of worship.
Joy is rich in fears;
sorrow has its sweetness.
Indistinguishable from each other
they approach us from eternity,
equally potent in their power and terror.
From every quarter
mortals come hurrying:
part envious, part awe-struck,
swarming, and peering
into the portent,
where the mystery sent from above us
is transmuting into the inevitable
order of earthly human drama.
What, then, is joy? What, then, is sorrow?
Time alone can decide between them,
when the immediate poignant happening
lengthens out to continuous wearisome suffering,
when the laboured creeping moments of daylight
slowly uncover the fullness of our disaster,
sorrow's unmistakable features.
Then do most of our kind,
sated, if only by the monotony
of unrelieved unhappiness,
turn away from the drama, disillusioned,
uncompassionate.
O you mothers and loved ones - then, ah, then
comes your hour, the hour for true devotion.
Then your hour comes, you friends and brothers!
Loyal hearts can change the face of sorrow,
softly encircle it with love's most gentle
unearthly radiance.
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, June, 1944. Tr. John Bowden
I am not asking you
to take this wilderness from me,
to remove this place of starkness
where I come to know
the wildness within me,
where I learn to call the names
of the ravenous beasts
that place inside me,
to finger the brambles
that snake through my veins,
to taste the thirst
that tugs at my tongue.
But send me
tough angels,
sweet wine,
strong bread:
just enough.
-Jan Richardson
striking suddenly on our startled senses
seem, at the first approach, all but impossible
of just distinction one from the other,
even as frost and heat at the first keen contact
burn us alike
Joy and sorrow,
hurled from the height of heaven in meteor fashion,
flash in an arc of shining menace o'er us.
Those they touch are left
stricken amid the fragments
of their colourless, usual lives.
Imperturbable, mighty,
ruinous and compelling,
sorrow and joy
--summoned or all unsought for--
processionally enter.
Those they encounter
they transfigure, investing them
with strange gravity
and a spirit of worship.
Joy is rich in fears;
sorrow has its sweetness.
Indistinguishable from each other
they approach us from eternity,
equally potent in their power and terror.
From every quarter
mortals come hurrying:
part envious, part awe-struck,
swarming, and peering
into the portent,
where the mystery sent from above us
is transmuting into the inevitable
order of earthly human drama.
What, then, is joy? What, then, is sorrow?
Time alone can decide between them,
when the immediate poignant happening
lengthens out to continuous wearisome suffering,
when the laboured creeping moments of daylight
slowly uncover the fullness of our disaster,
sorrow's unmistakable features.
Then do most of our kind,
sated, if only by the monotony
of unrelieved unhappiness,
turn away from the drama, disillusioned,
uncompassionate.
O you mothers and loved ones - then, ah, then
comes your hour, the hour for true devotion.
Then your hour comes, you friends and brothers!
Loyal hearts can change the face of sorrow,
softly encircle it with love's most gentle
unearthly radiance.
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer, June, 1944. Tr. John Bowden
I am not asking you
to take this wilderness from me,
to remove this place of starkness
where I come to know
the wildness within me,
where I learn to call the names
of the ravenous beasts
that place inside me,
to finger the brambles
that snake through my veins,
to taste the thirst
that tugs at my tongue.
But send me
tough angels,
sweet wine,
strong bread:
just enough.
-Jan Richardson
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Lent, Day 13
The concern which I lay bare before God today is:
My concern for the life of the world in these troubled times.
I confess my own infer confusion as I look out upon the world.
There is food for all – many are hungry.
There are clothes enough for all – many are in rags.
There is room enough for all – many are crowded.
There are none who want war – preparations for conflict abound.
I confess my own share in the ills of the times.
I have shirked my own responsibilities as a citizen.
I have not been wise in casting my ballot.
I have left to others a real interest in making
a public opinion worthy of democracy.
I have been concerned about my own little
job, my own little security, my own shelter, my own bread.
I have not really cared about jobs for others,
security for others, shelter for others, bread for others.
I have not worked for peace; I want peace,
but I have voted and worked for war.
I have silenced my own voice that it may not
be heard on the side of any cause, however right,
if it meant running risks or damaging my own little reputation.
Let Thy light burn in me that I may, from
this moment on, take effective steps within my
own powers, to live up to the light and courageously
to pray for the kind of world I so deeply desire.
-Howard Thurman
My concern for the life of the world in these troubled times.
I confess my own infer confusion as I look out upon the world.
There is food for all – many are hungry.
There are clothes enough for all – many are in rags.
There is room enough for all – many are crowded.
There are none who want war – preparations for conflict abound.
I confess my own share in the ills of the times.
I have shirked my own responsibilities as a citizen.
I have not been wise in casting my ballot.
I have left to others a real interest in making
a public opinion worthy of democracy.
I have been concerned about my own little
job, my own little security, my own shelter, my own bread.
I have not really cared about jobs for others,
security for others, shelter for others, bread for others.
I have not worked for peace; I want peace,
but I have voted and worked for war.
I have silenced my own voice that it may not
be heard on the side of any cause, however right,
if it meant running risks or damaging my own little reputation.
Let Thy light burn in me that I may, from
this moment on, take effective steps within my
own powers, to live up to the light and courageously
to pray for the kind of world I so deeply desire.
-Howard Thurman
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Lent, Day 12
Lent is a time
for giving up something valuable
so we can remember
how great a blessing it is to us.
Lent is a time
for taking up something valuable
so we can remember
to bring some blessing to others.
-Lois Rock
for giving up something valuable
so we can remember
how great a blessing it is to us.
Lent is a time
for taking up something valuable
so we can remember
to bring some blessing to others.
-Lois Rock
Monday, March 5, 2012
Lent, Day 11
Lord, who hast form’d me out of mud,
And hast redeem’d me through thy bloud,
And sanctifi’d me to do good;
Purge all my sinnes done heretofore:
For I confesse my heavie score,
And I will strive to sinne no more.
Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me,
With faith, with hope, with charitie;
That I may runne, rise, rest with thee.
-George Herbert
And hast redeem’d me through thy bloud,
And sanctifi’d me to do good;
Purge all my sinnes done heretofore:
For I confesse my heavie score,
And I will strive to sinne no more.
Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me,
With faith, with hope, with charitie;
That I may runne, rise, rest with thee.
-George Herbert
Sunday, March 4, 2012
The Second Sunday in Lent
The God of Abr'ham praise,
who reigns enthroned above;
Ancient of everlasting days,
and God of love--
I Am the One I Am"--
by earth and heav'n confessed;
I bow and bless the sacred name
forever blest.
The God of Abr'ham praise!
At your supreme command
from earth I rise and seek the joys
at your right hand.
I all on earth forsake--
its wisdom, fame, and pow'r--
and you my only portion make,
my shield and tow'r.
The God of Abr'ham praise!
Your all-sufficient grace
shall guide me all my pilgrim days
in all my ways.
You deign to call me friend;
you call yourself my God!
And you will save me to the end
through Jesus' blood.
Your promise you have sworn;
I on your oath depend.
I shall, on eagle wings upborne,
to heav'n ascend.
I shall behold your face;
I shall your pow'r adore,
and sing the wonders of your grace
forevermore.
Though nature's strength decay,
and earth and hell withstand,
to Canaan's bounds I urge my way
at your command.
The wat'ry deep I pass,
with Jesus in my view,
and through the howling wilderness
my way pursue.
The goodly land I see,
with peace and plenty blest;
a land of sacred liberty
and endless rest.
There milk and honey flow,
and oil and wine abound,
and trees of life forever grow
with mercy crowned.
Before the great Three-One
the saints exulting stand
and tell the wonders God has done
through all their land.
The list'ning spheres attend
and swell the growing fame
and sing the songs which never end,
the wondrous name.
The whole triumphant host
give thanks to God on high.
"Hail, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"
they ever cry.
Hail, Abr'ham's God and mine!
I join the heav'nly lays:
to you be glory, might divine,
and endless praise!
-Thomas Olivers, based on the Yigdal, c. 14th cent.
who reigns enthroned above;
Ancient of everlasting days,
and God of love--
I Am the One I Am"--
by earth and heav'n confessed;
I bow and bless the sacred name
forever blest.
The God of Abr'ham praise!
At your supreme command
from earth I rise and seek the joys
at your right hand.
I all on earth forsake--
its wisdom, fame, and pow'r--
and you my only portion make,
my shield and tow'r.
The God of Abr'ham praise!
Your all-sufficient grace
shall guide me all my pilgrim days
in all my ways.
You deign to call me friend;
you call yourself my God!
And you will save me to the end
through Jesus' blood.
Your promise you have sworn;
I on your oath depend.
I shall, on eagle wings upborne,
to heav'n ascend.
I shall behold your face;
I shall your pow'r adore,
and sing the wonders of your grace
forevermore.
Though nature's strength decay,
and earth and hell withstand,
to Canaan's bounds I urge my way
at your command.
The wat'ry deep I pass,
with Jesus in my view,
and through the howling wilderness
my way pursue.
The goodly land I see,
with peace and plenty blest;
a land of sacred liberty
and endless rest.
There milk and honey flow,
and oil and wine abound,
and trees of life forever grow
with mercy crowned.
Before the great Three-One
the saints exulting stand
and tell the wonders God has done
through all their land.
The list'ning spheres attend
and swell the growing fame
and sing the songs which never end,
the wondrous name.
The whole triumphant host
give thanks to God on high.
"Hail, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"
they ever cry.
Hail, Abr'ham's God and mine!
I join the heav'nly lays:
to you be glory, might divine,
and endless praise!
-Thomas Olivers, based on the Yigdal, c. 14th cent.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Lent, Day 10
THE CALL
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life :
Such a Way, as gives us breath :
Such a Truth, as ends all strife :
And such a Life, as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength :
Such a Light, as shows a feast :
Such a Feast, as mends in length :
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart :
Such a Joy, as none can move :
Such a Love, as none can part :
Such a Heart, as joyes in love.
-George Herbert
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life :
Such a Way, as gives us breath :
Such a Truth, as ends all strife :
And such a Life, as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength :
Such a Light, as shows a feast :
Such a Feast, as mends in length :
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart :
Such a Joy, as none can move :
Such a Love, as none can part :
Such a Heart, as joyes in love.
-George Herbert
Friday, March 2, 2012
Lent Day 9
Commemoration of John Wesley, died 1791; Charles Wesley, died 1788; renewers of the church, hymnwriters.
Love divine, all loves excelling,
Joy of heav’n to earth come down!
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
all thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesus, thou art all compassion,
pure unbounded love thou art;
visit us with thy salvation,
enter ev’ry trembling heart.
Breathe, oh breathe thy loving Spirit
into ev’ry troubled breast;
let us all in thee inherit;
let us find they promised rest.
Take away the love of sinning;
Alpha and Omega be;
end of faith as its beginning,
set our hearts at liberty.
Come, Almighty, to deliver;
let us all thy life receive;
suddenly return and never,
never more thy temples leave.
Thee we would be always blessing,
serve thee as thy hosts above,
pray and praise thee without ceasing,
glory in thy perfect love.
Finish then thy new creation,
pure and spotless let us be;
let us see thy great salvation
perfectly restored in thee!
Changed from glory into glory,
till in heav’n we take our place,
till we cast our crowns before thee,
lost in wonder, love, and praise!
-Charles Wesley
Love divine, all loves excelling,
Joy of heav’n to earth come down!
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
all thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesus, thou art all compassion,
pure unbounded love thou art;
visit us with thy salvation,
enter ev’ry trembling heart.
Breathe, oh breathe thy loving Spirit
into ev’ry troubled breast;
let us all in thee inherit;
let us find they promised rest.
Take away the love of sinning;
Alpha and Omega be;
end of faith as its beginning,
set our hearts at liberty.
Come, Almighty, to deliver;
let us all thy life receive;
suddenly return and never,
never more thy temples leave.
Thee we would be always blessing,
serve thee as thy hosts above,
pray and praise thee without ceasing,
glory in thy perfect love.
Finish then thy new creation,
pure and spotless let us be;
let us see thy great salvation
perfectly restored in thee!
Changed from glory into glory,
till in heav’n we take our place,
till we cast our crowns before thee,
lost in wonder, love, and praise!
-Charles Wesley
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Lent, Day 8
Commemoration of George Herbert, poet and hymnwriter, died 1633
LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'
'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
-George Herbert
LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'
'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
-George Herbert
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Lent, Day 7
Holy Spirit,
giving life to all life,
moving all creatures,
root of all things,
washing them clean,
wiping out their mistakes,
healing their wounds,
you are our true life,
luminous, wonderful,
awakening the heart
from its ancient sleep.
-Hildegard of Bingen, tr. Stephen Mitchell
giving life to all life,
moving all creatures,
root of all things,
washing them clean,
wiping out their mistakes,
healing their wounds,
you are our true life,
luminous, wonderful,
awakening the heart
from its ancient sleep.
-Hildegard of Bingen, tr. Stephen Mitchell
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Lent, Day 6
Lord, bless to me this Lent.
Lord, let me fast most truly and profitably,
by feeding in prayer on thy Spirit:
reveal me to myself
in the light of thy holiness.
Suffer me never to think
that I have knowledge enough to need no teaching,
wisdom enough to need no correction,
talents enough to need no grace,
goodness enough to need no progress,
humility enough to need no repentance,
devotion enough to need no quickening,
strength sufficient without thy Spirit;
lest, standing still, I fall back for evermore.
Show me the desires that should be disciplined,
and sloths to be slain.
show me the omissions to be made up
and the habits to be mended.
And behind these, weaken, humble and annihilate in me self-will, self-righteousness, self-satisfaction, self-sufficiency, self-assertion, vainglory.
May my whole effort be to return to thee;
O make it serious and sincere
persevering and fruitful in result,
by the help of thy Holy Spirit
and to thy glory,
my Lord and my God.
–Eric Milner-White
Lord, let me fast most truly and profitably,
by feeding in prayer on thy Spirit:
reveal me to myself
in the light of thy holiness.
Suffer me never to think
that I have knowledge enough to need no teaching,
wisdom enough to need no correction,
talents enough to need no grace,
goodness enough to need no progress,
humility enough to need no repentance,
devotion enough to need no quickening,
strength sufficient without thy Spirit;
lest, standing still, I fall back for evermore.
Show me the desires that should be disciplined,
and sloths to be slain.
show me the omissions to be made up
and the habits to be mended.
And behind these, weaken, humble and annihilate in me self-will, self-righteousness, self-satisfaction, self-sufficiency, self-assertion, vainglory.
May my whole effort be to return to thee;
O make it serious and sincere
persevering and fruitful in result,
by the help of thy Holy Spirit
and to thy glory,
my Lord and my God.
–Eric Milner-White
Monday, February 27, 2012
Lent, Day 5
To Keep a True Lent
IS this a fast, to keep
The larder lean ?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep ?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish ?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour ?
No ; ‘tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate ;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent ;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin ;
And that’s to keep thy Lent.
-Robert Herrick
IS this a fast, to keep
The larder lean ?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep ?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish ?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg’d to go,
Or show
A downcast look and sour ?
No ; ‘tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate ;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent ;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin ;
And that’s to keep thy Lent.
-Robert Herrick
Sunday, February 26, 2012
First Sunday in Lent
It’s true, we cannot reach Christ’s forti’eth day;
Yet to go part of that religious way,
Is better than to rest:
We cannot reach our Saviour’s purity;
Yet we are bid, ‘Be holy ev’n as he, ‘
In both let’s do our best.
Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone,
Is much more sure to meet with him, than one
That travelleth by-ways:
Perhaps my God, though he be far before,
May turn and take me by the hand, and more:
May strengthen my decays.
Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast
By starving sin and taking such repast,
As may our faults control:
That ev’ry man may revel at his door,
Not in his parlour; banqueting the poor,
And among those his soul.
-George Herbert, from Lent
Yet to go part of that religious way,
Is better than to rest:
We cannot reach our Saviour’s purity;
Yet we are bid, ‘Be holy ev’n as he, ‘
In both let’s do our best.
Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone,
Is much more sure to meet with him, than one
That travelleth by-ways:
Perhaps my God, though he be far before,
May turn and take me by the hand, and more:
May strengthen my decays.
Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast
By starving sin and taking such repast,
As may our faults control:
That ev’ry man may revel at his door,
Not in his parlour; banqueting the poor,
And among those his soul.
-George Herbert, from Lent
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Lent, Days 3 and 4
Our Father whose creative Will
Asked Being for us all
Confirm it that Thy Primal Love
May weave in us the freedom of
The actually deficient on
The justly actual.
Though written by Thy children with
A smudged and crooked line
The Word is ever legible
Thy Meaning unequivocal
And for Thy Goodness even sin
Is valid as a sign.
Inflict Thy promises with each
Occasion of distress
That from our incoherence we
May learn to put our trust in Thee
And brutal fact persuade us to
Adventure Art and Peace.
-W.H. Auden, from For the Time Being
O God, we pray this day:
for all who have a song they cannot sing;
for all who have a burden they cannot bear;
for all who live in chains they cannot break.
for all who wander homeless and cannot return;
for those who are sick and for those who tend them;
for those who wait for loved ones and wait in vain.
for those who live in hunger
and for those who will not share their bread,
for those who are misunderstood
and for those who misunderstand;
for those who are captive and for those who are captors,
for those whose words of love are locked within their hearts
and for those who yearn to hear those words.
Have mercy on these, O God.
Have mercy on us all.
- Ann Weems
Asked Being for us all
Confirm it that Thy Primal Love
May weave in us the freedom of
The actually deficient on
The justly actual.
Though written by Thy children with
A smudged and crooked line
The Word is ever legible
Thy Meaning unequivocal
And for Thy Goodness even sin
Is valid as a sign.
Inflict Thy promises with each
Occasion of distress
That from our incoherence we
May learn to put our trust in Thee
And brutal fact persuade us to
Adventure Art and Peace.
-W.H. Auden, from For the Time Being
O God, we pray this day:
for all who have a song they cannot sing;
for all who have a burden they cannot bear;
for all who live in chains they cannot break.
for all who wander homeless and cannot return;
for those who are sick and for those who tend them;
for those who wait for loved ones and wait in vain.
for those who live in hunger
and for those who will not share their bread,
for those who are misunderstood
and for those who misunderstand;
for those who are captive and for those who are captors,
for those whose words of love are locked within their hearts
and for those who yearn to hear those words.
Have mercy on these, O God.
Have mercy on us all.
- Ann Weems
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Lent, Day 2
Sometimes, hard-trying, it seems I cannot pray—
For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife,
Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest
May fall, flit, fly, perch—crouch in the bowery breast
of the large, nation-healing tree of life;
Moveless there sit through all the burning day,
And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay.
-George MacDonald
For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife,
Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest
May fall, flit, fly, perch—crouch in the bowery breast
of the large, nation-healing tree of life;
Moveless there sit through all the burning day,
And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay.
-George MacDonald
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Ash Wednesday
I'm planning to post a poem each in day in Lent. Here's the first, for Ash Wednesday:
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
Monday, January 2, 2012
God Pause
Starting today, through next Sunday, I'm the writer for the Luther Seminary God Pause daily devotions. Here's the link if you're interested: http://www.luthersem.edu/godpause/daily_view.aspx
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The New Year
This is the end of W.H. Auden's Christmas play, For the Time Being. A good one for the new year!
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.
Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.
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