This poem was inspired by Peyton Salmon, who when she was just 4 years old, answered a question in Family Church about Pentecost in a profound way. (Piers Northam.)
‘How do we know God?’ She asks. ‘We feel it inside us.’ says the child. ‘And what does it feel like?’ ‘It feels like breath…’
It feels like breath: the engendering, enlivening breath, the rushing wind, the gift of life…
This child, just four years old, speaks an ancient truth – a truth not learnt but lived.
She knows the One who knit her together in her mother’s womb: recognises in a way that can’t be taught.
Lambs discovering the joy of sunbathing! Photo from the Lake District from my friend Gill Henwood
The Church of England commemorates Christina Rossetti today. She is known particularly as a poet and probably more popularly as the author of the Christmas carol, In the bleak Mid-winter. Tunes by Gustav Holst and Harold Darke have helped to build its reputation. No Christmas carol service would be complete without it though it has a somewhat fanciful beginning. In the bleak-midwinter, frosty winds made moan, earth was hard as iron, water like a stone and then follows a reference to snow falling on snow. That doesn’t quite fit in with the birth of Jesus at Bethlehem in the warmer climes of the Middle East but the carol was written for people who live in the Northern Hemisphere. In these parts the idea of a cold winter is not difficult to imagine though the hope for snow may remain just that! The carol raises other questions but it is probably the final verse which has the greatest appeal, for both children and adults.
What can I give Him, Poor as I am? — If I were a Shepherd I would bring a lamb; If I were a Wise Man I would do my part, — Yet what I can I give Him, — Give my heart.
The idea of giving oneself to God at Christmas, who gave Himself to us in the Incarnation, is, after all, a response to an amazing action of God to bring salvation to His world. Christina recognizes this action of God as an act of pure Love. In another Christmas Carol, Love came down at Christmas, she ponders on this theme of Love in a deeper, spiritual way.
Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, love divine; Love was born at Christmas, Star and angels gave the sign.
Worship we the Godhead, Love incarnate, love divine; Worship we our Jesus: But wherewith for sacred sign?
Love shall be our token, Love shall be yours and love be mine, Love to God and to all men, Love for plea and gift and sign.
It is not as well-known as In the bleak midwinter, though the poem was set as the text for the BBC Radio 3 Carol Competition in 2022 and so got a lot of air time on the Radio. The winning tune was, to my mind, both memorable and beautiful. I think Christina, with a life steeped in a loving experience of God expressed in poetry, might have approved.
She was born in 1830 and died at the age of 64. Her brother was the Pre-Raphaelite painter, Dante Gabriel Rosetti and she became steeped in the theological movement which was associated with this – the Anglo-Catholic expression of worship and prayer. This had led her on a journey from Evangelicalism. Her elder sister took this a bit further by becoming an Anglican nun! Many of her poems were mainly religious though some were born out of sadness of love that was never quite fulfilled in human terms. She did, however, compose poems for children, including a very popular one, Goblin Market, about two sisters who were tempted by forbidden fruit sold by Goblin merchants and what follows as a result! Christina denied this was a poem for children and, indeed, many modern commentators point out adult themes to which it alludes. She did, however, write genuine poems for children. She also wrote a book, Called to be Saints, which she subtitled ‘the Minor Festivals Devotionally Studied, which explored those saints in the Anglican calendar which were overlooked at the time. She provided a devotional reflection on each one in a poetic way which reflected the depth of her faith.
Today she has her own place in the Anglican Calendar and a greater recognition of someone who in her lifetime dealt with unrequited love and quite debilitating illness and yet with faith. She gave us poetic reflections for our own life’s journey which also reflect a love of God that produced a rich harvest.
Some of her poetry celebrated the world around her and the photo by Gill Henwood of lambs taking their ease in the Lake District, which heads this article, drew me to a verse in one of Christina’s poems, The Milking Maid …
The year stood at its equinox, And bluff the North was blowing. A bleat of lambs came from the flocks, Green hardy things were growing. I met a maid with shining locks, Where milky kine were lowing.
[MrG 27th April 2024]
Good Lord, I ask much of Thee, But most I ask to love Thee; Kind Lord, be mindful of me, Love me, and make me love Thee.
Rainwater dazzling on dark leaves – photo composition by Mr G.
Last night I was at a vigil of prayer led by my friend Julia Sheffield. A group of us gathered in a small, intimate chapel which was a symbol of Gethsemane, the Garden where Jesus took his disciples before his arrest. We were the modern day disciples gathered with Jesus in contemplation of Good Friday about to dawn once again. Julia led us sensitively and beautifully with prose, music and silence in a three hour meditation. As ever, in a confined space we become aware of our friends praying with us. Silence is rarely easy, especially when tired but atmosphere can work wonders. Even so, I found myself shuffling a little, so I thought about this and wrote these words.
Reflective thoughts on Gethsemane.
Lord, you asked us to stay, to wait, to watch. Be still…
Language of vigil.
Attentiveness, companionship. Faithful believers invited to devoted watchfulness.
Is that us Lord? Is our fidgeting, our drooping eyes, shuffling feet, punctuated snores, stifled coughs, wandering thoughts, enough?
You said, Watch and pray. You also say, I will love you and whatever you bring, it is enough.
Your faith, however dim you think it is, lightens the darkest of nights. Together we cannot be quenched, diminished, dimmed. in a world in need, We dazzle!
Lindisfarne, Evening Sun. Photograph by Gill Henwood.
St Cædda (St Chad) is commemorated on March 2nd. When St Oswald sent to Iona for a monk to open up his people to the love of God in Jesus Christ, the community ultimately sent Aidan (the first monk they sent turned out to be rather disappointing!) Aidan established his monastery on Lindisfarne, in Northumberland, known today as Holy Island. It was made holy, consecrated to God, by the mission St Aidan began. He first trained up 12 Anglo-Saxon boys in the faith, in prayer and in the ways of God. Of these, four were brothers. Two we know of because of their missionary work and because the Venerable Bede wrote of them. St Chad, after a time in the North-East of England, took the Gospel to the Midlands, establishing a church in Mercia at what is now Lichfield. His brother Cedd took the Gospel to Essex and then Lastingham in North Yorkshire. When Cedd died, Chad continued his work there.
Today Chad’s mission and ministry lives on in Lichfield Cathedral and Diocese, in the Roman Catholic Cathedral in Birmingham, in parishes and schools dedicated to him and in the College which bears his name in the University of Durham.
I couldn’t find a poem about him, so I wrote this one in honour of his saint’s day today.
Cædda (St Chad)
He found his place of Resurrection deep in the Mercian woods, near the church he founded. Here, angels sang prayers of preparation, bringing joyful messages from on high. He heard his Lord, quietly whispering to him. “Cædda, it is time. You must come home now.”
It had been a great adventure, beginning on that far off day when, with Cedd and Cynbil and Caelin, he crossed the Northumbrian water following the calling Cross, the hymns of birds and seals, and the lapping mantra of waves, to a place of welcome and warmth and the great man who waited for them.
There were twelve in the end, a band of brothers learning to get on together. Celtic words taught to Anglo-Saxon minds, merging with the language of Love. Excitement and joy, as slowly, but wonderfully, they heard the words of God swirling across the headland: eddying Gospel syllables bringing holiness to Cædda’s soul.
It was there, on that far shore, that he found the dawn of his Resurrection.
Mr G's Ponderings 