The Obedience of Birds

I wrote this poem in honour of St. Columbanus. He was a seventh century Irish monk who was a disciple of St. Comgall of Bangor,and became one of the first and greatest Irish missionaries to the continent. He and those who followed him did much to reinvigorate Christianity among the violent and feuding Frankish monarchs, and to spread Christian learning again on the continent. Several of his powerful sermons and letters survive.

The Obedience of Birds

 

On the ruins of an old Roman road,

Columbanus pauses on his journey.

Beasts and Birds joyfully

dance around him,

like cats about the feet of their mistress.

 

Dreaming he sits on the trunk of a rotten oak,

the smell of the book in his lap

launches unexpected visions.

thoughts fly up through sheltering beams of fir,

travel far to windswept Bangor,

Ireland in the extreme ocean.

 

Youthful burning fire of obedience;

wherever salvation led him,

there he would go.

His reverend master,

severely gentle Comgall,

teaching adorned with eloquence,

enkindled that deep desire

to see strange lands.

The discipline of psalmody

trained Columbanus for future strife,

secured for him joyful virtues

from phalanxes of unseen enemies.

 

Joined by brothers,

companions half-mad with trust,

and eager for salvation,

the bond of peace,

a worthy solace,

companions thrust into the sea,

escorted by gulls through

the windy watery desert.

 

Aliens amongst the Franks,

those fierce and strange

long-haired children

who have learned

to play with knives.

 

Wandering through dark woods

with books of holy scripture

strapped to shoulders,

food furnished by bark and herbs,

unterrified and full of courage.

 

Mountains and forests have their charms:

better to suffer from wild beasts

than the madness of men who

lose their souls,

evildoers who bawl envious detractions.

fierce Brunhilda, her viper Theuderich,

venting their wrath like

dogs fighting over a bone.

 

Great flocks of birds of prey

came to love and fear him.

sharp-clawed bears

discerned his power,

ravens returned stolen goods.

A wondrous thing,

the broken are restored to

joyful hope.

Pilgrims are joined by men whose

sincerity cannot be doubted,

a net in the water,

filled now with so many fishes,

he could scarcely lift it.

A marvelous thing,

this obedience of birds.

 

An owl rustles in the tree,

cascading images of times and lives

release their grip.

All memories converge again

as eyes focus on the page, while

sunbeams point the way to prayer.

John Webster, in memoriam.

My first encounter with John Webster was during our orientation day here at St Andrews a few years back. We both were new arrivals, and went through a day of shall we say mixed presentations, the most memorable perhaps being a film on fire safety!  From that day on I was struck by his friendliness and sense of humor, and also his kindness. When I had extended severe vision problems, there were some very bleak days, and I will never forget a card John wrote for me, which picked up my spirits more than he could have realized. That was his way, the seemingly small but profoundly meaningful gesture. And there were many others.

We had many conversations about Aquinas, baseball, Abbot Columba Marmion and especially St. Bonaventure which I will always treasure.

As I sort through the many memories of John Webster and begin to come to terms with his passing, I am reminded of the last time I was in a seminar with him this past spring, and the discussion topic moved to the eucharist and Thomas Aquinas. John quietly said that if we really want to know the fullness of what Aquinas felt, we need, alongside with his theological writings, to also ponder the prayers he wrote, including the beautiful hymns for Corpus Christi. Today as it happens is that feast day, and as I mourn the loss of John, a good man and man of deep prayer, I cannot also help but take deep solace in the eternal, beatific vision which even now, I trust, John has begun to experience, the Divine Presence he wrote so beautifully and helpfully about for all of us.

 

Ardagh Chalice

I wrote the following poem inspired by the seventh century Irish chalice that is considered one of the greatest pieces of Celtic art ever produced. The poem is also a homage to early medieval Irish monastic poets, who playfully adopted and adapted ancient motifs from ancient epic and also romantic love poetry to their own circumstances, e.g. the famous “love poem” a monk wrote about his psalm book, or a ram making a heroic charge up a hill.

 

Ardagh Chalice

Guests now sleep in midnight darkness,

Pentecost mere hours away.

A thinly shimmering silver moon

Gazes over abbey walls.

 

A weariness beyond words

weighs on me in this dimly lit sacristy,

a hard night’s work of trimming candles,

incense mixed with scent of polished metal,

vestments and altar linens

brushed and hung

await the morning.

Novices have now been sent to bed,

their youthful strength spent;

Father Abbot made it clear

this final task is mine alone.

 

You stand alone,

restful but expectant

in your oaken closet.

A chaste wife

awaiting her lord’s return.

I put aside my special cloth,

newly spun for your touch alone,

and gently now with beating heart,

open up your secret chamber.

Candlelight illuminates your beauty,

takes my breath away.

 

Earth’s precious elements

adorn your sumptuous

curving form.

A glistening collar round your waist

draws my eyes downward,

square blocks of blue glass

on golden flange

surround perfect silver feet.

 

Trumpet spirals of

precious gold

summon to dance all

Gods’ creatures

in scrolls of filigree,

as apostles’

names in shining metal

stand out amidst

a sea of stippling.

 

Your beauty astounds,

your makers’ skills

surely show the Spirit’s fire.

I draw closer,

and as I put my hands

around your waist,

I wipe clean your golden rim,

where already,

in this pre-dawn light,

lips cold and dry

long to drink the Blood

for us outpoured.

 

 

 

7 Gifts

Medieval theologians loved the number seven. They saw it as a perfect number, corresponding to the Six Days of Creation and the Sabbath when God rested. From this the number came to play an important role as medieval theology developed, with the Seven Sacraments and Seven Deadly Sins (and the virtues that countered them!), for example, being classic examples of this. At this time of the Liturgical Year, Ascentiontide, when the church begins to focus intensely on the upcoming feast of Pentecost, there is a special longing in the devotional tradition to pray for the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit. The tradition has been enriched by various prayers for the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and as like in many things, the thirteenth century Franciscan St. Bonaventure brought together these deep longings in a prayer that would become a well known treasure.

I frequently use it myself at this time of year, and I quote it here in the hope that you will find it useful too as you think about the glorious mystery that is the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and the constant need for the Presence of the Spirit in our own ongoing Christian journey:

We beg the all-merciful Father through thee, his only-begotten Son made man for our sake, crucified and glorified for us, to send upon us from his treasure-house the Spirit of sevenfold grace, who rested upon thee in all his fullness:

the spirit of wisdom, enabling us to relish the fruit of the tree of life, which is indeed thyself;

the gift of understanding: to enlighten our perceptions;

the gift of prudence, enabling us to follow in thy footsteps;

the gift of strength: to withstand our adversary’s onslaught;

the gift of knowledge: to distinguish good from evil by the light of thy holy teaching;

the gift of piety: to clothe ourselves with charity and mercy;

the gift of fear: to withdraw from all ill-doing and live quietly in awe of thy eternal majesty.

These are the things for which we petition. Grant them for the honor of thy holy name, to which, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, be all honor and glory, thanksgiving, renown, and lordship for ever and ever. Amen.

Veni Creator Spiritus

As I have remarked before in this blog, the nature of the Tradition is that beauty begets more beauty and creativity inspires more creativity. One great example of this is the great ninth century hymn Veni Creator Spiritus attributed to the Benedictine monk and theologian Rabanus Maurus. This lovely poem invoking the coming and gifts of the Holy Spirit has always been associated in the Roman and Anglican traditions with the great feast of Pentecost, as well as any occasion, such as consecrations of bishops, confirmations, and even coronations of monarchs, where the invocation of the Holy Spirit’s inspiration is especially desired. This wonderful hymn has been translated by many over the centuries, and has thus made its way into the pews in countless churches of many traditions.

One of my favourite translations is by the great poet John Dryden, a perfect example of a magnificent piece of liturgical art and imagery inspiring great art, in turn charged with its own spiritual energy and power. It is hard to think of a better way to spend Ascensiontide then in the company of Rabanus Maurus and John Dryden a few minutes each day, two classics for the price of one, in hopeful and prayerful preparation for the great feast of Pentecost.

Veni Creator Spiritus     attributed to Rabanus Maurus (9th century)

Translated in PARAPHRASE  by  John Dryden

Creator Spirit, by whose aid
The World’s Foundations first were laid,
Come visit ev’ry pious Mind;
Come pour thy Joys on Human Kind:
From Sin, and Sorrow set us free;
And make thy Temples worthy Thee.

O, Source of uncreated Light,
The Father’s promis’d Paraclite!
Thrice Holy Fount, thrice Holy Fire,
Our Hearts with Heav’nly Love inspire;
Come, and thy Sacred Unction bring
To Sanctifie us, while we sing!

Plenteous of Grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sev’n-fold Energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty Hand,
Whose Pow’r does Heav’n and Earth command:
Proceeding Spirit, our Defence,
Who do’st the Gift of Tongues dispence,
And crown’st thy Gift, with Eloquence!

Refine and purge our Earthly Parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our Hearts!
Our Frailties help, our Vice controul;
Submit the Senses to the Soul;
And when Rebellious they are grown,
Then, lay thy hand, and hold ’em down.

Chace from our Minds th’ Infernal Foe;
And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow:
And, lest our Feet shou’d step astray,
Protect, and guide us in the way.

Make us Eternal Truths receive,
And practise, all that we believe:
Give us thy Self, that we may see
The Father and the Son, by thee.

Immortal Honour, endless Fame
Attend th’ Almighty Father’s name:
The Saviour Son, be glorify’d,
Who for lost Man’s Redemption dy’d;
And equal Adoration be
Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

Totus Christus

The influence of Augustine (354-430) on Catholic thought cannot be exaggerated. His writings on various doctrinal and pastoral issues served as the taking-off point for much theological discourse in the Latin west. Augustine was both Bishop of Hippo in Roman North Africa and the superior of a monastic community; the pastoral concerns of both these roles afforded ample challenge for his considerable talents. The Africa of his day saw the church bitterly divided by the Donatist schism. The problem dated back to the early fourth century, when a group who would become known as the Donatists rejected the consecration of a Catholic bishop on the grounds that his predecessor had handed over sacred books and vessels to the Roman government in a time of persecution. The Donatists rejected the Catholic bishops as unworthy and held aloof from the Catholic rituals, feeling that the Catholics and all who shared their sacraments were tainted and separated from the true church. In this painful context, Augustine would develop his views on the eucharist as both the sign and source of unity for the Christian faithful.

A central idea for Augustine was the church as a unity in multiplicity. Without losing their individuality, the members of the church form an organic body with Christ, the head of the church. This mystical body of Christ is a union which includes all the saints, from Abel down to all those who are yet to be born. The identity of Christ with the faithful was the theme of Christ’s great prayer to the Father at the Last Supper, namely that all will be one just as Jesus and the Father are one. The sharing of the eucharist is thus a crucial way for the faithful to share together in the inner life of the Trinity.

Each day Augustine gathered with his monastic brethren and the laity to celebrate the eucharist. At this moment, the Christian faithful as one body, united to their head, together join in a sacrifice of praise. Central to this is Christ’s self-offering of his redemptive suffering and death on Calvary. But for Augustine, the doctrine of the mystical body leads to an even richer idea of what eucharistic sacrifice means. All of the faithful offer this sacrifice with Christ. Our sufferings, asceticisms, and humble and contrite hearts form a part of Christ’s self-offering, because we are a part of Christ’s body. In his classic work The City of God, Augustine develops this concept of sacrifice:

“So then, the true sacrifices are acts of compassion, whether towards ourselves or towards our neighbors, when they are directed towards God; and acts of compassion are intended to free us from misery and thus to bring us to happiness. . . . This being so, it immediately follows that the whole redeemed community, that is to say, the congregation and fellowship of the saints, is offered to God as a universal sacrifice, through the great Priest who offered himself in his suffering for us—so that we might be the body of so great a head—under ‘the form of a servant.’ For it was this form he offered, and in this form he was offered, because it is under this form that he is the Mediator, in this form he is the Priest, in this form he is the Sacrifice. Thus the Apostle first exhorts us to offer our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, as the reasonable homage we owe him, not to be ‘con-formed’ to this age, but to be ‘re-formed’ in newness of mind to prove what is the will of God—namely what is good, what is acceptable to God, what is perfect, because we ourselves are that whole sacrifice. . . . This is the sacrifice of Christians, who are ‘many, making up one body in Christ.’ This is the sacrifice which the Church continually celebrates in the sacrament of the altar, a sacrament well-known to the faithful, where it is shown to the Church that she herself is offered in the offering which she presents to God.”

 

Together with Jesus our head, the Christian faithful form what Augustine calls Totus Christus, the whole Christ. The eucharist then is not a ceremony which the congregation merely attends as passive witnesses. Our whole lives, our very thoughts and deeds, do nothing less than complete the redemptive offering of Christ’s own suffering. Indeed, the eucharist affirms that in our daily struggle to respond to God’s grace, we are not alone. When we gather for eucharist to share Christ’s flesh and blood, we are reminded of our dignity and responsibility as Christians, and of the one whose body we form a part.

From The Communion of Saints, Our Lady of the Angels cathedral, Los Angeles