poetry

I found this beautiful poem several months ago on Rob Marsh's blog and have been eagerly waiting for Easter to post it. As I have been reading Adrian Warnock's Raised With Christ and seen more and more tweets from various believers about the importance of the resurrection, these lines have taken on even more resonance. I find the first stanza breath-taking its declaration that without a literal, physical resurrection, “the Church will fall.” The poem is by John Updike.

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His Flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

I’ve always been a lover of fiction, and only in the last 3 or 4 years have I come to a place where I can not only teach poetry but also enjoy it. The majority of my students in literature surveys are put off by poetry (as I was, even in grad school), so I have had some hesitation in posting a poem here. Hopkins in 1888This summer, I’ve been teaching British and Irish Literature II (which covers the late 1700’s to the present), and I’ve been reacquainted with some poems and poets that I love. In particular I’m drawn to Gerard Manley Hopkins, a Jesuit in Victorian England who wrote so eloquently about his faith. A number of his poems speak to his struggles with doubt, but he has others that celebrate God and creation. “As kingfishers catch fire” has been on my mind since mid-June: when I read it one morning before class, it stunned me (more about why after the poem).

[Teaching aside: let me make a few suggestions to all of you who are not poetry readers. First, read it aloud. Poetry is in part about sound, and this is especially true of Hopkins. You miss much of the beauty of his work if you don’t hear it. Second, ignore the accent marks (Í) and line breaks and just read straight through as you would with prose, pausing and stopping with the punctuation; it’s a lot easier to get the sense of the poem that way.]

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim and roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves–goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

Í say more: the just man justices;
Keeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is–
Chríst. For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

kingfisherI have to say, I’m still left rather breathless each time I read it. Perhaps it’s because I’ve fumbled for so long to know who I am and what I’m all about; only in the last 6 or 7 years have I truly come to know myself. As I’ve understood that God created me to do not just something but certain things, that I was created for a particular purpose, I have come to see that I don’t just teach for a living, I am a teacher. I don’t just like to write, I am a writer. “What I do is me: for that I came.”

It’s all well and good to know your purpose. Hopkins take this one step further, though. He says that as the “just man justices” and the writer writes, he “Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is–Christ.” When I am truly me, being myself (and doing what I was made to do), I am Christ, giving pleasure to the Father. It’s good to be reminded that I was made for a purpose and that who I am makes my Creator happy.

Note: for those of you, like me, unfamiliar with the kingfisher, this is what he looks like; you can learn more here.

Lord, catch me off guard today

February 28, 2006

Lord, catch me off guard today.
Surprise me with some moment of beauty or pain
So that at least for the moment
I may be startled into seeing that you are here in all your splendor,
Always and everywhere,
Barely hidden,
Beneath,
Beyond,
Within this life I breathe.
–Frederick Buechner

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Tennyson’s “Flower in the crannied wall”

September 24, 2005

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies;–
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower–but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

One of my favorite poems.

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