The World in a Ray of Sun

T. M. Moore

Poetry as Spiritual Discipline

Who knows the secrets of the world? Not the learned men, but poets. —Esther De Waal

It was said of Columba, the great Celtic missionary, monk, and founder of the monastic community on Iona (d. 597), that he possessed “second sight,” the ability to see through mundane circumstances, events, and things to the larger spiritual meanings they represent. The idea of “second sight” is as old as Homer. In The Iliad, Calchas the seer, renowned for possessing second sight, was approached to explain the reasons behind the blighting of the Greek armies and the frustration of their purposes at Troy. By the time “second sight” began to be valued by Celtic Christians, it had come to be associated with the gifts of prophecy and poetry, in part because of the traditional role of poetry in pre-Christian Celtic society, in part because so much Old Testament prophecy appears in poetic form. In the Celtic Christian worldview, poetry and prophecy often went hand-in-glove. Poets could see things normal people could not, and this qualified at least some of them to speak with a prophetic voice concerning the will of God. Columba was celebrated as both a prophet and a poet.

It may be more than merely coincidental that poetry is frequently associated with the ability to discover transcendent meanings in everyday things and situations. By its very nature poetry is designed to make us reflect more deeply about everyday realities. As Molly Peacock puts it, “Poetry is the art that offers depth in a moment, using the depth of a moment.”1 Wallace Stevens elaborates: “One is always writing about two things at the same time in poetry and it is this that produces the tension characteristic of poetry. One is the subject and the other is the poetry of the subject.”2

At any time, therefore, a poet is confronted with a “subject”—a situation, an object of the creation, a conversation. Something is going on right before her eyes that she can observe, analyze, and describe. But the poet sees more. Behind every “subject” is a deeper meaning—the “poetry” of the subject. In this vision, an event or object comes to stand for truths and realities larger and more significant than itself; it evokes grander visions or conjures profound affections or insights into life. A bird floating on unseen currents of air suggests the sovereign care of God for all his creation. The onset of blindness reminds us that God does not need any of our works but receives even our most humble service as a way of honoring him. Those whose minds are trained to “freeze” such subjects, explore their larger significance, and point toward that significance in verse, are often able to guide their readers into an experience rather like second sight, in which unseen things emerge out of what is seen, not unlike the 3-D images concealed in a “Magic Eye” picture.

Christians and unseen things

The privilege of second sight inheres to all followers of Jesus Christ. Christians are commanded to set their minds on the unseen realities of the spiritual world, where Christ rules as King at the Father’s right hand.3 As we obediently exercise and develop this God-given ability to “see” beyond the mundane, believers can find strength, peace, and hope, even in the face of the most untoward circumstances.4 In fact, the ability to practice seeing the unseen verities of the spiritual world is an indispensable component of true faith.5

We have the testimony of God himself that he has “set his glory” in the visible things of creation, culture, and the course of human affairs.6 Profound, unseen mysteries are there to be discovered in the careful contemplation of the things and situations we encounter every day. Indeed, God takes pleasure in “hiding” the revelation of himself in mundane situations and things; he challenges us to seek out that glory by careful observation,7 so that we might render to him the thanks, worship, and honor he is due.8

All this being true, it would seem that every believer in Jesus Christ should be eager to nurture at least a modicum of “second sight” as a discipline for Christian living. And given what we know of poetry, we can reasonably expect that reading and studying poetry—particularly Christian poetry—will aid us in nurturing this ability.

Examples of poetic second sight

Let’s consider three examples of poetry working to facilitate second sight. In each of the following poems an everyday situation or event is the focus of the poet’s reflection. But in his or her skilled hand, the “subject” takes on deeper significance and, as the poet explores the “poetry” of the subject, deftly bringing images and words together, the “subject” becomes a vehicle for transporting us into the deeper and more real world of spiritual truth. It becomes less important as a thing or an event per se, and more important for what it reveals.

Let’s look first at Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889). Here is his poem, “Let me be to Thee as the circling bird”:

Let me be to Thee as the circling bird,
Or bat with tender and air-crisping wings
That shapes in half-light his departing rings,
From both of whom a changeless note is heard.

I have found my music in a common word,
Trying each pleasurable throat that sings
And every praisèd sequence of sweet strings,
And know infallibly which I preferred.

The authentic cadence was discovered late
Which ends those only strains that I approve,
And other science all gone out of date
And minor sweetness scarce made mention of:
I have found the dominant of my range and state—
Love, O my God, to call Thee Love and Love.

The subject of this poem is a bird or bat circling a light, probably a gas street lamp, singing or chirping as it flies in repetitive rings around its focus. The idea of that “changeless note” gives Hopkins the opportunity to make a comparison with himself, with his “music.” He sings poetry like the circling bird sings his own unique note. Only late in life did Hopkins discover his own voice and style in writing poetry, and he offered it to God as the greatest gift he could give him. None of Hopkins’ wonderful verse was published in his lifetime; for him it was enough to offer his verse as a gift of “Love” to the God who was “Love” to him. He was satisfied to circle ’round the God who loves him and to compose songs of love to him in return.

This poem is a sonnet—fourteen lines in three stanzas. The first two quatrains pose the situation and the last stanza, a sestet, provides the resolution. The rhythm of the lines is consistent throughout; the rhymes of the first two stanzas agree while a new rhyme scheme is introduced in the final sestet. Hopkins composed his observation and what it suggests about finding one’s unique “voice” for loving God in a traditional form that is almost musical when read aloud. He invites the reader to enter his “song” and, in the process, to reflect on his or her own calling from the Lord. The circling bird becomes the “sightline” for a glimpse into unseen verities, not only for Hopkins, but for each one who enters his reverie with the eye of faith.

Our second poet is Denise Levertov (1923–1997):

From Below

I move among the ankles
of forest Elders, tread
their moist rugs of moss,
duff of their soft brown carpets.
Far above, their arms are held
open wide to each other, or waving—

what they know, what
perplexities and wisdoms they exchange,
unknown to me as were the thoughts
of grownups when in infancy I wandered
into a roofed clearing amidst
human feet and legs and the massive
carved legs of the table,

the minds of people, the minds of trees
equally remote, my attention then
filled with sensations, my attention now
caught by leaf and bark at eye level
and by thoughts of my own, but sometimes
drawn up to gazing—up and up: to wonder
about what rises
so far above me into the light.9

The poet is in a forest, looking up at the trees high above her and recalling a childhood episode of being in a different kind of “forest”—of human and table legs. Notice how deftly she interweaves the two experiences—“rugs of moss,” “duff of their soft brown carpets,” “a roofed clearing.” She has learned since her childhood that adults know so much, have much wisdom to offer, and converse over great perplexities and profound matters. As a child the “trees” of her “forest” drew her on and up to the world of adult realities and a fuller life. Were the trees, towering above her late in life, doing the same, pointing her far beyond, “into the light” of an altogether different realm of mystery and wonder? What glories and perplexities awaited her there?

This poem is in a kind of modified free verse; it has no discernible rhythm or rhyme, although the three stanzas are meant to suggest shifts in thought. Nevertheless, the skilled use of enjambment—wrapping a sentence to the next line—helps to emphasize key thoughts and to create a “sightline” for the reader: “open,” “perplexities,” “unknown,” “filled,” “drawn,” “so far above.” Levertov’s meditation in the woods reminds us that unseen realities beckon to us in the things that are seen, and, at the very least, urges us to contemplate their meaning and significance (compare Psalm 19:1–4).

Our final guide to unseen things is Wendell Berry (born 1934):

To sit and look at light-filled leaves
May let us see, or seem to see,
Far backward as through clearer eyes
To what unsighted hope believes:
The blessed conviviality
That sang Creation’s seventh sunrise,

Time when the Maker’s radiant sight
Made radiant everything He saw,
And every thing He saw was filled
With perfect joy and life and light.
His perfect pleasure was sole law;
No pleasure had become self-willed.

For all His creatures were His pleasures
And their whole pleasure was to be
What He made them; they sought no gain
Or growth beyond their proper measures,
Nor longed for change or novelty.
The only new thing could be pain.10

Berry mixes rhyme schemes to create a delightful invitation to enter the realm of second sight. Light playing on and around a leaf speaks to him of the glory of God, and transports his mind back to the first days of creation, when every created thing was content to be what God had made it, without self-willed ambition. All was peace and delight and pleasure in the perfect law of God. The only thing the creatures could add would be disruption—“pain.” Berry sees a good deal of pain in the world today, most of which is the result of selfish ambition and a desire to exercise God-like dominion over creation and others, but without the grace and wisdom that only God can possess. Less confrontational than his many essays on this theme, this “Sabbath Poem” allows Berry an opportunity to lament what our economic greed has wrought, and to bring us into his lament with him.

These three Christian poets demonstrate how seeking out the depth of a moment—observing and meditating on a mundane subject in order to explore its spiritual associations and unlock its transcendent meanings—can discover the poetry of that moment and lead to an experience of second sight. Reading and reflecting on this kind of poetry can thus be a kind of spiritual discipline.

Poetry as spiritual discipline

Spiritual disciplines are those exercises and regimens that train us—body, mind, heart, and conscience—for greater sensitivity toward and receptivity of the things of God. Prayer, Scripture reading, meditation, fasting—these are a few of the tried-and-true means of engaging with the Lord so that we experience the transforming power of his glory and Spirit.11 Reading Christian poetry can have a similar effect by leading us to discover the glory of God in everyday things and training us in the exercise of second sight.

Take up reading good Christian poetry as part of your practice of spiritual disciplines. An excellent place to turn is A Sacrifice of Praise.12 Here are over seven hundred pages of the finest Christian poetry in the English language to help nurture second sight as part of your own regimen for spiritual growth.

Allow me to offer a few guidelines for reading poetry as a spiritual discipline. First, read the poem slowly, preferably aloud. Listen to the sounds. Try to feel the rhythm. Let the music of the poem emerge and begin to move your soul in rhythm with it. Look for rhymes, both at the ends of lines and in the middle, and rhymes of ideas as well as sound. As you read and begin to feel the poem, picture the subject of it in your mind. What is in the poet’s focus? What is the poem’s unfolding story or description? How would you summarize its subject?

Second, try to discern the connections the poet is making to unseen realities—the “poetry” of the subject. Do you hear terms or phrases that remind you of spiritual things? Are there any echoes of biblical truth? Any direct comparisons with or subtle allusions to spiritual realities or transcendent truths? What spiritual meaning is the poet trying to suggest? How does he connect that meaning to his subject?

Third, establish a personal “sightline” for second sight. Your sightline will run something like this: from subject to associations with spiritual things to spiritual lessons to personal significance. By garnering a clear sense of the subject and observing the way the poet connects its details to spiritual matters, you should be able to derive the spiritual lessons or implications the poet is making for himself. Then you will be able to reflect on what those might imply for you. Thus you may enter into the poet’s experience of the subject, and allow the poetry of the subject to let you look along his outstretched arm and pointed finger at his own exercise of second sight. This, in turn, can help to nurture in you that valuable ability to see through your own mundane reality into the realm of unseen things—the exercise of second sight.

The more you read poetry like the selections in A Sacrifice of Praise as a spiritual discipline, the stronger will become your ability to observe and appreciate the glory of God in the everyday situations and objects of your own life. You may begin to find that, increasingly, the world around you looks different, brighter, more fraught with beauty and spiritual meaning. As you nurture the ability to see with second sight, your sense of the whole world will be greatly enlarged, and your awareness of the presence of God will become more consistent and acute.

Columba was celebrated by his contemporaries and spiritual heirs for his great ability to discern the will of God in some ordinary object or event. His skill in the exercise of second sight was so pronounced that Adomnán, his primary biographer, recorded, “in some speculations made with divine favour the scope of his mind was miraculously enlarged, and he saw plainly, and contemplated, even the whole world as it were caught up in one ray of sun.”13 This is the poet’s work, as well as his gift to us. As he contemplates the whole world in a ray of sun, the poet encourages us to join him in the exercise of second sight, of seeing through to transcendent realities by means of everyday situations and things, and thus to discover the glory of God as our constant companion.

T. M. Moore is Dean of the Centurions Program of the Wilberforce Forum and Principal of The Fellowship of Ailbe, a spiritual fellowship in the Celtic Christian tradition. He is the author or editor of twenty books and has contributed chapters to four others. His essays, reviews, articles, papers, and poetry have appeared in dozens of national and international journals, and on a wide range of websites. His most recent books are The Ailbe Psalter and The Ground for Christian Ethics, (available at www.lulu.com/waxedtablet). He and his wife and editor, Susie, make their home in Concord, Tennessee.

1 Responses (comments are closed) • Features, Arts and Culture, Spiritual Growth, Mon 23 Apr 2007