Tag: poem

Robes won by dying

Those of us who live in the Northern Hemisphere began the season of Autumn at the end of last week. The day is known as the Autumn ‘equinox’ or, more technically, the ‘astronomical equinox’

‘Equinox’ is the day when daylight and darktime hours are equal. This happens twice a year in Spring and Autumn. The word ‘equinox’ comes from two Latin words, aequus which means, equal and nox which means night.

The initial effect is that we notice the nights are darker for longer and there is generally a drop in temperature. Nature begins to adjust accordingly. Many birds migrate whilst other birds arrive to over-winter. Many animals hibernate (just as, in this season and, in winter many of us would like to do so also!)
Biologically the pace of life slows. For some it isn’t a happy season but for others it has a magic of its own.

The countryside, forests, woods and parkland areas of towns are ablaze with colour as the leaves of the trees put on their autumn garb. They are stunning signs of summer’s end and the onset of winter as the trees become skeletal. Not everyone enjoys this time of year. Those beautiful leaves, golden, red and bronze are fluttering to their death.

A poem, I was once given, expresses a poignancy about this process of autumnn and deepens the message.

‘When I am King
I’ll wear a robe of autumn gold
and deep blue sky
and tell my fierce red subjects ‘Hold
up your rich dying, do not die
For I’m your King.’
but they’ll reply
Such robes are only won by dying.

The poem was composed by a young man who was diagnosed with an illness for which there was no cure. It was a powerful comment on his own impending death, but not in any morbid or fatalistic way. It ends on a note of hope.
There is no way we can hold up the natural order of things as season moves into season. Nor can we hold up the process of our own dying which is as inevitable as that of the leaves falling from the trees.
But it is how we view, or bear, this process of dying which matters.
As Christians, death should be viewed as a positive experience which ought not to frighten us.
Gilbert Shaw, an amazing guider of souls wrote:

God’s gift is death as well as birth:
No man can close the open door,
Through which the soul must pass from earth,
To meet unveiled the LOVE that waits.

The open door, through which we pass from death to life eternal where LOVE, who is God, awaits us, in Christ Jesus.
In His dying Jesus put on the robe of autumn gold that can only be won by dying. but in that dying he opened for us the way to a completeness of life that is far more glorious than we dare imagine. This is why we can face death hopefully. It is the door through which we must pass to God

At one level, the falling of the leaves is a sign of Nature’s essential renewal and there is never a complete dying. Even in Autumn, buds are forming on the tree which shed the old leaves so spectacularly.
New life is always near, which is why there is such a truth in the poem by the young man facing his death. You cannot ‘hold up the dying’ .
The rich robes of our Lord are ready to clothe us in Resurrection light and life and love.
Autumn then, is a season of both the emptying of nature and the beginning of renewal and re-birth.

That is a truth for all who are prepared to allow God to draw our souls into the arms of ‘the LOVE that always waits.

[Mr G]

A case of Rain

When I was in infant school I starred in a small thespian production. My role was that of ‘Clerk of the Weather’ over which Ihad total control and I wore a top hat to prove it!. I was able to command thunderbolts, raindrops, wind, sunshine and so much more.

Last week in France, the dry spell, as in England, was interrupted by thunderstorms. Flooding followed before hot spells returned.

Inspired by my memories of that wonderful few moments of power, I wrote this little poem..

The Clerk of the weather has heard the peoples’ cry!
from his well stocked store house he scrabbles around
throwing thunderbolts over his shoulder
followed by a splendid light show of forked beauty
illuminating the indigo sky, crackling like witches!
His generosity knows no bounds as he adds thunderbolts and whirling winds.
Deluge after deluge of pooling rain deliciously kisses the ground.
The orchestra of thunderous drums beats across the sky
accompanied by a light show of immense power.

The Clerk laughs gleefully,
loving this reckless cacophany reaching down to crash upon the earth,
soaking into parched and thirsty ground.
But as the water floods across the baked soil the people cry;
Enough!, Too much!
Never satisfied.

The Clerk of the Weather draws breath and blows a wind so violent,
it drowns their protesting voices and buffets them into submission.
The Clerk thus reminds them just who is in charge.

Thunderstorm over Falaise. 17th August 2022

[Mr G]

Hospitality

My friend Piers sent me this poem and reflection drawing on the Rule of Saint Benedict and its relevance to the Lambeth Conference of the worldwide Anglican Church.

I was drawn to dwell on hospitality by recent events surrounding the Anglican Lambeth Conference which began on 26 July 2022. Anglican Bishops and their spouses from around the world have been invited to Canterbury to worship and pray together and to explore a range of topics. I was saddened that partners and spouses of gay and lesbian bishops were not invited and this set me thinking about what true hospitality looks like. St Benedict writes about hospitality in his Rule: in Chapter 53 he says,

‘All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me (Matt 25:35). Proper honour must be shown to all, especially to those who share our faith (Gal 6:10) and to pilgrims. Once a guest has been announced, the superior and the brothers are to meet him with all the courtesy of love.’

I also found this useful commentary by Jerome Kodell, OSB in which it becomes clear that, for St Benedict at least, there is a lack of pre-judgement and a defencelessness about true Christian hospitality.
So my poem comes not as a rebuke, but as a plea – that we welcome others with true generosity so that all may feel settled and at ease. Only then can we feel safe enough to speak and to explore together.

My prayers are with all involved in the Lambeth Conference over the next few days.

Piers Northam
July 2022

Deep Dark

In response to Mr G’s earlier piece, Dispelling darkness with light came this. When asked how I imagine God, the sensation that always forms within me is of deep, rich, velvety darkness – an enfolding – and a profound sense of safety. There’s something a bit imperceptible about it: neither warm nor cool, but at blood heat, meaning that at times you have to pay attention to notice God’s presence. A bit like a second skin…. It’s strange in a way that this image or feeling should have formed for me because as a child I was scared of the dark – but maybe that’s telling too – something about trust, perhaps.

And at times, when things seem bleak and dark and starved of light, it feels as though God might be absent too. That primal fear of the dark night and what it might contain surfaces in us and leaves us feeling alone and anxious.

So much of our language revolves around the notion of light countering the darkness. Yet it was God who said ‘Let there be light’ – God, who existed before the light came into being. So seek and know God in the darkness too…

Piers