The Dream-bent Farmer: Poetry

jeff-qian-549563-unsplash

photo by Jeff Qian via Unsplash

‘What is this world but a seed of desire

some dream-bent farmer sowed in a field

waiting for

the end of winter, waiting to be getting on

with business of timothy and clover?’

—Abigail Carroll, ‘Spring Forward’

God is a dream-bent farmer sowing the seed of desire.  Time leaves us this task.  It is time’s gift to separate the initial moment from the consummation.  Without time there is no desire, only undifferentiated light.  Desire provides the space for shadow, heartbreak, longing, and treachery.  But its the elation I feel — the wonder of finding a place at all where I can be safely revealed, received.

I desire much and muchly.

Squinting Through This Latent, Bleak Obscurity with Scott Cairns

christopher-campbell-30253-unsplash

photo by Christopher Campbell via Unsplash

“Just now, we squint to see the Image through

this latent, bleak obscurity.  One day, we’ll see the Image—

as Himself—gleaming from each face.

Just now, I puzzle through a range

of incoherencies; but on that day,

the scattered fragments will cohere.”

If you don’t recognize 1 Corinthians 13 in this translation, perhaps that good.  Our hearing of that passage in the context of many a moony marriage ceremony has ruined our ears.  Eros has something to do with God, but Paul was after so much more.

51m8Rds-bhL._SX327_BO1,204,203,200_The poet Scott Cairns gets that.  He has spent a career exploring the mystical dimensions of love in its human and divine expressions, sometimes in the hideaway Orthodox monasteries that lure adventurous pilgrims and usually in the company of dusty Greek texts.  When he translates the ancients, as he does in the collection Love’s Immensity: Mystics on the Endless Life[Paraclete Press, 2007], he is dipping his hand into a deep current of faith and prayer.  The result is verse, poetry at its best, that takes texts from Christian history that many consider impenetrable and renders them luminous.

Take this body- and life-affirming fragment from Irenaeus:

“The tender flesh itself

will be found one day

—quite surprisingly—

to be capable of receiving,

and yes, full

capable of embracing

the searing energies of God.

Go figure.  Fear not.” (5)

Or a meditation on ‘His Image Recovered’ by Athanasius:

“Here, belovéd numbskulls, is a little picture: You gather,

one presumes, what must be done when a portrait on a panel

becomes obscured—maybe even lost—to external stain.

The artist does not discard the panel, though the subject must return

to sit for it again, whereupon the likeness is etched once more upon

the same material.  As He tells us in the Gospel, I came

to seek and to save that which was lost—our faces, say.” (15)

But don’t expect all roads to lead to clarity or enlightenment.  Cairns invites us to pause with words as well.  One word he leaves untranslated when it arises—nous.  He explains in the introduction that “it is the center of the human person, where mind and matter meet most profoundly, and where the human person is mystically united to others and to God.” (xiii-xiv)

31q-tyHPCgL._UX250_

Scott Cairns

The nous is the place from which Cairns has been seeking to live and he finds good companions in this volume.  You would expect the passionate, hot-blooded saints like Gregory of Nyssa, Catherine of Siena, Richard Rolle of Hampole, Julian of Norwich, and Thérèse of Lisieux.  But Cairns mines the works of the more cool-headed and detached as well — Basil the Great, Meister Eckhart, and Gertrude of Helfta.  Besides learning some great names, the reader is likely to be seduced into seeking out more from the wealth of Christian tradition.

Love’s Immensity has been sitting with my morning reading for a couple of years now.  I’m returning it to the shelf, but I expect it to be back.  Beauty never really fades from memory.  Nor does true love as Paul would have it:

“In all of this, both now and ever,

faith and hope and love abide, these

sacred three, but the greatest of these (you surely

must have guessed) is love.” (4)

Inside Something: A Poem for a Rainy Day

craig-whitehead-260341

photo by Craig Whitehead via Unsplash

The tea cozy cover of a sunk-in rain.

The vast,

intimidating

sky

shielded by dark clouds.

The low

rumble of thunder.

The wisdom of the rain speaking gently

diligently:

 

“You are inside something.

You are not without love or borders.

All your anxious

wonderings

are contained within this sphere.

Settle yourself.

Learn the lesson of the land and air.

Be here with.”

Alex Joyner

Sunset in Archer County – A Poem

ray-hennessy-118046

photo by Ray Hennessy via Unsplash

If coyotes howl at sunset

why do we sit in silence?

Staring at our screens

or dumbfounded by our electrified darlings

we let the miracle pass

unnoticed

day after night after day.

That a nuclear furnace on which all life depends

some millions of miles beyond us

is passing once more out of sight

plunging us into dark from which we could

never recover

and we chose diversion

instead of braying into the dying light?

How unevolved.

The creatures are more wise than I.

 

I want to strip down naked

and join the coyote clan.

I want to skulk beneath a barbed wire fence

leaving tufts of hair to mark the passing.

I want to move lightly over loose rock

and spiky ground

to gather on a height,

there to loose the cry

that would squelch the yearning

lodged in my chest.

Joined in song—this desperate song—

by others of my breed

To note this orange moment

this golden moment

this vermillion moment

this inky moment

this night of the full moon’s rise

Because it may not come again

And where would I rather be on my or the earth’s

last day

than basking in that light

with all my wildness hanging out?

–Alex Joyner

Spelunking: The Journey of Prayer

felix-russell-saw-234596

photo by Felix Russell-Saw via Unsplash

In here

is a cavern

vast and brilliant

Where old songs echo off ancient walls

and fresh water drips down to do its

long work of creation.

In here

the illusion of sterility can confound you

as if no life stirs,

no light illumines,

no generative communion draws

souls to one.

But in here

vistas open regularly

wild creatures rut and roar

the cave becomes a canvas

for a righteous riot of possibility.

‘In here’

eludes our best technology.

There is no cell reception in the depths.

And so we sit in silence

waiting for the Other’s face to compose

and hunger gloriously in the gathering glow of Her.

–Alex Joyner

Beloved Numbskulls – Athanasius on Saving Face

Flight_into_Egypt_(coptic_icon)

Icon of the Flight into Egypt – via Wikimedia Commons

‘Here, belovéd numbskulls, is a little picture: You gather,

one presumes, what must be done when a portrait on a panel

becomes obscured—maybe even lost—to external stain.

The artist does not discard the panel, though the subject must return

to sit for it again, whereupon the likeness is etched once more upon

the same material.  As He tells us in the Gospel, I came

to seek and to save that which was lost—our faces, say.

St. Athanasius, ‘His Image Recovered,’ translated by Scott Cairns

To Know the Country Whole – A Definition in Poem

IMG_7103I want to know the country whole.

The country:

the country with its upturned plains and teeming back bays

the country carved, sliced, and served in red and blue

the country broken

the country of my birth and of exile’s long longings

the country promised and made new along with heaven

I want to know the country whole.

Whole:

all of it

comprehensively

in stereovision

restored

communing

saved

I want to know the country whole.

To know:

to see

to experience

to probe

to taste

to receive

to anticipate

to desire

to love

 

“Beauty was all the answer they had”–When Theologians Soar

IMG_5989Sometimes, and all too rarely, a theologian can soar in writing.  I have been working my way, very slowly, through Katherine Sonderegger’s Systematic Theology: Volume I, The Doctrine of God, and savoring passages like this one:

This is what we mean by compatibilism in theology. The One Light that enlightens all creatures is truly here, truly shining in the night, truly hovering over the chaos, over the manger and its little, hidden King; truly illumining the search for truth in all sciences, living up all struggles for compassion and mercy, shining down each dark corridor, in prisons and workhouses and death camps, pouring gracious Light on every death, every restless search for rest. God is there; before us, [God] is there.

41G1+De1i8L._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_What faith sees in this Christian compatibilism is the Relatio: the tie between creature and Creator that just is the dependence of all things on God.  Augustine says this best: “I spoke to all the things that are about me, all that can be admitted by the door of the senses, and I said, ‘Since you are not my God, tell me about him.  Tell me something of my God.’ Clear and loud they answered, ‘God is he who made us.’ I asked these questions simply by gazing at these things, and their beauty was all the answer they have.”

God is communicated, as Life, as Power, to creatures, and that Communication is spiritual Light. The faithful see this world bathed in light–our opened eyes take in an illuminated world–and in that earthly light, we see Light. The Uncreated Light veils itself within our creaturely light, and by faith, we believers affirm its lovely Presence.  (428)

This is the stuff and root of poetry.  This is what happens of a morning when I look at the frost on the field out my window.  This is why, when I’m tempted to despair, I realize I am yet a captive to the God of Israel and of Jesus Christ, lost in wonder, love, and praise.  Thanks, Katherine.

The Myth of the Cosmic Skybox

frank-kohntopp-130663

photo by Frank Köhntopp via Unsplash

It has finally happened.  I seriously had the thought that I would not attend an event just because I knew that, two days later, I would receive the dreaded email evaluation.  “It will only take 5-10 minutes of your time,” the email will say.

Great.  I’ll get to it right after the questionnaires related to my last hotel stay, the meeting I attended last week, and the consumer survey from a store I visited in a town I’ll probably never return to.

I know from whence these come.  In their pursuit of excellence and quality, the organizations and businesses need feedback on how they’re doing.  They want to improve at their core mission.  They appreciate my offering tips.  Sharing is caring.

damian-zaleski-843

photo by Damian Zaleski via Unsplash

Yes, but scoring is boring!  Worse than boring, the endless surveys assume that I have a judgment to offer (on a functional 5-point scale) about everything I experience.  And if they just fiddle with their formula enough they’ll be able to hit my sweet spot.

Actually, I DO have judgments to offer.  Ask me to consider for a minute and I’ll be able to find a number of things that could be better.  The towels in the hotel bathroom did look a little worn and threadbare.  The speaker’s mic had a kind of tinny sound.  And come to think about it, the paper towels we bought had an odd perforation pattern.

I could do this all day.

Perhaps that would be helpful to someone, but when it comes to the life of the Spirit, I’m not so sure.  I appreciate churches that strive for excellence in hospitality and worship.  And I definitely notice when its not done well.  But if we’re talking encounter with God, am I really qualified for the job of consumer critic?

Survey Monkey questionnaires, like every online tool of evaluation, are a product of the modern world in which the autonomous individual is assumed to have a cosmic skybox inside them from which she can stand, detached from the earth and context, and cast an all-knowing eye at the thing before her.  It’s not a bad assumption if you just want some feedback on the sound system in the theater, but it’s more problematic if we’re talking about worldviews.

The essential things in this world, (like the deep pulse of the natural world, the complex bonds of family, and the mystery of a holy God), all have their hooks in us before we ever find words to describe them.  To imagine we can understand them fully or stand apart from them enough to pass judgment on them is an illusion.  Not that we shouldn’t use the gift of reason to explore them more fully.  It’s just that these big realities don’t pass before our skybox like a parade.  And we ought not to think more highly of ourselves than we ought to think, as Paul says in Romans 12:3.

51A7VfV9RNL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_Too many surveys and I begin to feel that I am more autonomous, more god-like than it’s good for a creature to feel.  More powerful is to stand before the God who knows me and to feel that I am connected to—somehow inside—a reality much larger than I.  How well does our worship, our common life lead us into such a realm?

In her poem “Two Pigeons and One Dove,” Mary Szybist looks at a tree and writes:

“Nothing stays long enough to know.

How long since we’ve been inside

anything together the way

these birds are inside

this tree together, shifting, making it into

a shivering thing.”

The birds don’t need a skybox.