St. Patrick's Hymn

We are told that Patrick and his company advanced toward the Irish sovereign arrayed in white and carrying crosses and singing the evangelist's hymn in all its majestic cadence:

" I bind to myself today
The strong power of the invocation of the Trinity;
The faith of the Trinity in unity;
The Creator of the elements.

" I bind to myself today,
The power of the incarnation of Christ
With that of His baptism;
The power of His crucifixion
With that of His burial;
The power of the resurrection
With (THAT OF) the ascension;
The power of His coming
To the sentence of judgment . . .

" I bind to myself today,
The power of God to guide me,
The might of God to uphold me,
The wisdom of God to teach me,
The eye of God to watch over me,
The ear of God to hear me,
The Word of God to give me speech,
The hand of God to protect me,
The way of God to prevent me,
The shield of God to shelter me,
The host of God to defend me,
Against the snares of demons
Against the temptations of vices,
Against the lusts of nature,
Against everyone who would injure me
Whether far or near;
Whether few or many.

" I have set around me all these powers,
Against every hostile, savage power
Directed against my body and my soul;
Against the incantations of false prophets,
Against the black laws of heathenism,
Against the false laws of heresy,
Against the deceits of idolatry,
Against the spells of women, and smiths, and Druids.
Against all knowledge that blinds the soul of man.

" Christ protect me today,
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wound,
That I may receive abundant reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ within me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ at my right hand, Christ at my left,
Christ in the fort (when I am at home),
Christ in the chariot-seat (when I travel),
Christ in the ship (when I sail).

Of the Lord is salvation;
Christ is salvation;
With us ever be
Thy salvation, O Lord!


" Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks to me;
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me."

All in All

For He has put everything under His feet. But when He says “everything” is put under Him, it is obvious that He who puts everything under Him is the exception. And when everything is subject to Him, then the Son Himself will also be subject to Him who subjected everything to Him, so that God may be all in all. – 1 Corinthians 15:27-28

That’s a lot of third person singular pronouns to figure out, but look at the very last phrase that God may be all in all. Let’s go back a few chapters in this same book: [Y]et for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things, and we for Him; and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things, and we through Him (1 Corinthians 8:6). All things are from God and all of it comes through Christ Jesus. There’s no pantheism in this statement since God is not the universe, rather the universe is that secondary reality that came from Him. We are included in that, not as an accident or afterthought but as co-creators. He is the Vine; we are the branches. Though the life comes through the Vine, fruit is borne only on the branch. We are of Him, as is everything from archangels to atomic particles. We begin to realize that everything is from the One, of the One and through the One.

I pray not only for these, but also for those who believe in Me through their message. May they all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me and I am in You. May they also be one in Us, so that the world may believe You have sent Me (John 17:20-21).

An illusion is something that appears real and is not, yet the illusion must be created from something that is real. An illusionist using smoke and mirrors fools us. We do not see the mirrors only the illusion they create; the mirrors are real. We see the multiplicity of physical existence; the unity of the Spirit is real.

As we often say, though, we don’t like to even use the word illusion since it connotes our material existence being something we might safely ignore or manipulate. This is not the case, so we say rather that the universe is derived, and material existence is a secondary reality, a function of the primary reality. Anaxagoras said, “Appearances are a glimpse of what is hidden.” Again the material world differs from a magician’s effort in that there is no intent to deceive us. We can know something about the primary reality by studying the secondary. There are correlations between the surface and the depths. Yet we cannot know it fully apart from revelation. God has been gracious to reveal Himself to us at various times and in various ways – most completely in the Incarnation of the Son (Hebrews 1:1-2).

We can know that we have a purpose, that history has a direction, a point to which it sprirals. We can know that we are at peace with God. We can know that we are one with the Creator of all that exists. We can know death is not an end but a transition. There are things we have to resist, and things we have to embrace. We should not resist in a way that further mires us in the quicksand of delusion; we should not embrace in a way that is clinging and anchors us in the material.

Compare and Contrast

I last posted William Blake’s poem “Night”. Blake is a visionary. It’s not even proper to call him a lyrical poet, though most of his poetry is lyrical enough. He is mystical and prophetic. His poetry is not meant to teach you anything, but to awaken you and open your eyes.

For an interesting contrast, consider the following poem by the most respected and renowned American poet of the 19th century, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Most of us older folks were exposed to Longfellow’s works like “The Song of Hiawatha” and “The Village Blacksmith” in school, and some of us memorized “Paul Revere’s Ride”. For all his good technical qualities, Longfellow eventually fell out of favor. He was often dismissed as didactic and lacking in passion. I suppose it’s hard to deny the didacticism, especially if we’re contrasting him to someone like Blake or even Whitman. Still, every good poet has his place. If poetry were baseball, Longfellow might be the stolid cleanup hitter Gehrig to Blake’s Ruth or Whitman’s Dizzy Dean.

I have no doubt that George MacDonald or G. K. Chesterton would prefer Blake with his flavor of wildness over someone like Longfellow, but, as much as we love meat, a glass of milk is often just the thing late at night.

----

"THE BELEAGUERED CITY" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.

But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.

Angels on the Night Shift

"NIGHT" by William Blake

The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight,
Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have ta'en delight.
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.


And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying: "Wrath by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.

"And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
For, washed in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o'er the fold."

Some Words Are More Equal Than Others

For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him the Son of Man also will be ashamed when He comes in the glory of His Father with the holy angels – Mark 8:38

What struck me about this is the position to which the Lord elevates what He says, His words. Don’t be ashamed of Me but also don’t be ashamed of what I say. It does not matter if what He says is a little challenging, a little convicting, even a little embarrassing at times. Sure I love Jesus, the Good Shepherd, the Wonderful, the Counselor, the Prince of Peace. As much as I embrace Him, I have to embrace all that He says.

I don’t think I ever stumbled over the Person of Jesus. I could always accept Him as the Son of God. Cool. Where I ran into problems was when He started talking about the poor being blessed and the rich having a hard time getting into heaven. I have trouble with Him telling me to turn the other cheek, take an insult and go on, go the extra mile for those who would oppress and humiliate me. I have trouble with seeking the kingdom and thinking I won’t have to worry about anything else. I don’t always want to hear that I have to forgive if I expect to be forgiven.

When Jesus began to talk about the necessity of eating His flesh and drinking His blood it so shocked and offended many of His followers that they left Him. Even His chosen disciples were confused by it. In fact, they were probably ashamed of what He was saying. He sounded like a mad man. They must have wondered how they were going to build a messianic kingdom with a Messiah who said such outrageous things. The crowds were falling away; it would cut in the offerings. Things might get tight.

Jesus equates His words with Himself. There is no question that we must believe in Christ, but He makes it clear that we must also believe what He says. It just makes sense in a way. If the Son of God is talking to you it would probably be a good idea to pay attention. Actions may speak louder than words for the average person, but God’s words are powerful and creative in themselves. They possess the power of illumination allowing us to discover reality as it really is.

When we hear the words of Jesus, we begin to understand Him, but we also begin to understand ourselves and the world we inhabit. Most of the time, we tend to focus on where we fall short in relation to what Jesus says. Conviction is good. It helps get us on the right track. But the words of Christ are not merely admonitions or clever proverbs to encourage us to behave better. Like the creative words of God in the beginning, the words of Christ are creative in us. Once we hear the words of the Lord, we are changed, and it is a change into newness. We became new creatures, as Paul says, sloughing off the old and being transformed into His image of us.

How can we continue to worry when we hear Jesus say, “Consider the lilies …”? How can we doubt when He says that all things are possible to him who believes? How can we continue to live in bondage when we hear Him say that we are free, indeed?

Not every time that I read the Bible do I hear Jesus speak. Sometimes I’m just reading and thinking and there’s not much happening. Maybe something is being sown or watered, I don’t know. But there are occasions where the words take on a life of their own, and I would hear them no more clearly if the Lord spoke to me in an audible voice. Reading and studying is good and beneficial no matter what else happens. If God spoke with such clarity every time we opened the book, we might become like the Israelites, “…[L]et not God speak with us, lest we die” (Exodus 20:19). There is such a thing as too much light all at once. He knows us and knows how much we can handle, and He speaks accordingly. All He asks is that we not be ashamed of the words we hear.

You May Have Heard of This One

"There Will Come Soft Rains" -- Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

A Poem About Poetry

"Poetry” by Marianne Moore

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important
beyond all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it,
one discovers that there is in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not be-
cause a

high sounding interpretation can be put upon them
but because they are
useful; when they become so derivative as to
become unintelligible, the
same thing may be said for all of us – that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand. The bat,
holding on upside down or in quest of some-
thing to

eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll,
a tireless wolf under
a tree, the immovable critic twinkling his skin like a
horse that feels a flea, the base-
ball fan, the statistician – case after case
could be cited did
one wish it; nor is it valid
to discriminate against "business documents
and

school-books"; all these phenomena are important.
One must make a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half
poets,
the result is not poetry,
nor till the autocrats among us can be
"literalists of
the imagination" – above
insolence and triviality and can present

for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads
in them, shall we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on one hand,
in defiance of their opinion –
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness, and
that which is on the other hand,
genuine, then you are interested in poetry.