Living in a New Light

Adam lay ibounden,
Bounden in a bond;
Four thousand winter
Thoght he not too long.
– Anonymous (15th century ode)

The Easter vigil at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church was a night of symbol and ritual. The new fire was kindled outside, the Paschal Candle lit, and then came the procession into the darkened sanctuary. As I stood there in the darkness, there were only two sources of light available. There was the Paschal Candle at the front of the church. The second light came as a surprise. Halfway back, emanating from the darkness was an illumined apple with a bite taken out of it. It was the unmistakable Macintosh logo shining in the darkness (I later learned that a technician was digitally recording the choral music that night – the reason for the laptop in the sanctuary).

Of course the apple has been a deeply ingrained symbol since long before Macintosh acquired it. It has served as a symbol of the despair that followed disobedience in the Garden of Eden when Adam and Eve partook of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. It has also been a symbol that celebrates knowledge. How many times have we seen those happy back-to-school images that include a stack of books, smiling children, and that familiar apple for the teacher?

As I stood there in the darkness of the night, awaiting the coming of Easter, I thought about how that apple is the reason we are gathered here to remember the Paschal mystery, and to celebrate our redemption. The bishop spoke that night of how we all have dreams that die – things do not turn out the way we had hoped – and how we must let those dreams die in order to find new resurrected life. He described that life as a creative fire carrying us onward and beyond. As I stood there between the apple and the Paschal Candle, I felt that I knew about dreams that die, new life that arises, and fire that carries us forward.

The anonymous medieval poet certainly knew the drama and hope of redemption. A traditional interpretation of the poem quoted above is that Adam, as a result of the apple, was trapped in Limbo for 4,000 years until being liberated by Christ’s cosmic redemption that included the harrowing of Hell. It can also allude to humankind being in bondage to sin until the coming of Christ. To me, the power of that poem is in re-imagining bondage and hope. Consider that before the apple in the garden, Adam was just as bound by Eden’s bliss. It was a bliss that included a lack of consciousness and a lack of struggle; where 4,000 years could pass as a long weekend. The poet has the wisdom to speak of that fortunate fall which brought us life as we know it, with all of its joys and sorrows. The ode that begins in bondage ends in thanksgiving:

Blessed be the time
That appil that take was.
Therefore we moun singen
‘Deo gracias.’

Like the anonymous poet, whose identity I wish we knew but whose anonymity makes him or her truly one of us, I stood there in the darkness of the Easter vigil celebrating two lights. The apple’s light of consciousness and struggle, and the Paschal light of hope and redemption. “Therefore we may sing, ‘Thanks be to God.’”


(This is a reflection on a past Easter experience and was first published in SPAFER's The Oasis Newsletter)

*

Striking a Chord

Billy Collins, U.S. poet laureate from 2001 to 2003, says that every poem is about death and gratitude. April is National Poetry Month and today is Good Friday. So today, I will use poetry to illustrate how Good Friday strikes a cord within humanity. During this Lenten season, I spent some time following the Stations of the Cross at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church each Friday. On one occasion we used a modern set of meditations which at times brought into focus the suffering that occurs in humanity; suffering that brings to mind the passion of Christ.

Today I am offering one of my poems, “An Ancient Harp,” and lyrics form two of Bob Dylan’s songs, “Not Dark Yet,” (for which this blog is named), and “Shelter from the Storm.” Not Dark Yet has some “Why have you forsaken me?” moments: “my sense of humanity has gone down the drain,” “I was born here and I’ll die here against my will,” “Don’t even hear a murmur of a prayer.” Note in Shelter from the Storm some specific Good Friday references such as “my crown of thorns,” and “they gambled for my clothes.”


An Ancient Harp
by Charles Kinnaird

When have I ever been far from pain?
Its shadow varies with humanity’s seasons.
And when have I ever been far from the rain
That sweetens the forest breeze?

A gunman appeared, that pursuing one,
His weapon cold and quick.
His bullet traced a familiar pain,
Making my old wound visible.

You have seen the gunman
Stepping briefly from the woods.
When you refused to give him credence
I felt the pain.

A mountain gorge speaks to the heart.
A beautiful cleft in violence torn.
And in my solitary pain I think
That I am not alone.

A madman runs down city streets
to bring redemption to our insanity.
A saint gives flesh to a common hope
to bring redemption to our personhood.
A poet weeps upon an ancient harp
to bring redemption to our pain.





Not Dark Yet
by Bob Dylan (From Time Out of Mind, 1997)

Shadows are fallin' and I've been here all day
It's too hot to sleep and time is runnin' away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I've still got the scars that the sun didn't heal
There's not even room enough to be anywhere
It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.

Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain
She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind
She put down in writin' what was in her mind
I just don't see why I should even care
It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.

Well, I've been to London and I been to gay Paris
I've followed the river and I got to the sea
I've been down on the bottom of the world full of lies
I ain't lookin' for nothin' in anyone's eyes
Sometimes my burden is more than I can bear
It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.

I was born here and I'll die here against my will
I know it looks like I'm movin' but I'm standin' still
Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb
I can't even remember what it was I came here to get away from
Don't even hear the murmur of a prayer
It's not dark yet but it's gettin' there.



Shelter from the Storm
by Bob Dylan (From Blood on the Tracks, 1975)

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

Now the bounds are broken and they can't be retired
A one more journey to the woods, the hole were spirit tired
It's a never ending battle, for a peace that's always torn
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
'Come in,' she said,
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'



*

Maundy Thursday

Today I am taking a page from my past writing. The following meditation was written 17 years ago after a Maundy Thursday service:

As I walked up the street toward All Saints Church, I saw the purple banner draped across the doorway. There was a flash of recognition, an acknowledgment, even a welcoming of the pain of brokenness. I realized that as I have grown older and experienced life more fully, I have a greater identification with Christ’s passion. I thought of how my three year old daughter experiences life, and I flashed back to my own awareness at that age, comparing it with other stages of my life. At the earliest stages, I knew happiness and sadness. Later I came to know greater disappointment and sorrow. I also came to know greater joy.

Tonight there is an immediate recognition of the pain of brokenness. There is an acceptance that this is a part of life. There is also a satisfaction and a hope, supported by experience, that new life -- resurrection -- will follow. In the church calendar there is a built-in cycle of life, suffering, pain, brokenness, sorrow, death, resurrection, celebration, joy, life.

My own experience confirms that we must pass through these stages. They come just as surely in real life as they are reflected in the church year. Would I have it any other way? Certainly not! The joy and completeness that I have known as I have grown older more than match the sorrow and brokenness that I’ve known. I welcome life as a whole. That is why I greet the penitent banner and the brokenness of the season with satisfaction. The church calendar and my own memories tell me that resurrection will follow.

Just as Christ entered into the brokenness and rebirth cycle of my own world, I am baptized into the passion and resurrection of his. It is only with time and experience that I slowly come to realize this and readily accept it.

1993


Postscript: While we all experience pain and brokenness, the following work by William Blake can serve to remind us not to inflict unnecessary pain and brokenness upon the innocent. These words from over 200 years ago are especially poignant in light today's church scandals.

Holy Thursday by William Blake

Holy Thursday (Songs of Innocence)

'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two & two, in red & blue & green,
Grey-headed beadles walk'd before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.
O what a multitude they seem'd, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among.
Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor;
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

1789

Holy Thursday (Songs of Experience)

Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reducd to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song!
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor,
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns
It is eternal winter there.
For where-e'er the sun does shine,
And where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

1794



*