In seminary, my liturgics professor, the Rev. Dr. James Farwell, said in one class that all theology is poetry. That statement has stayed with me for years. Far from undermining the truth behind theology or relativizing it, Dr. Farwell was reminding my class of the power of words and the literary art in trying (however vainly) to speak of the ultimate truth of God, which defies description in human words. Words matter, but in the realm of theology, the multivalent meanings of words especially matter. When we attempt to speak of God, we attempt to speak of a mystery beyond our understanding, and yet we try. We must try.
Have you ever noticed the poetry of the imagery present even within the creeds that we say weekly? We proclaim that Jesus is “Light from Light” and “is seated at the right hand of the Father.” The Holy Spirit is “the giver of life.” In these imagistic phrases, we are trying to say something utterly true about one God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit within the confines of human language. The best theologians, in my mind, are those who understand poetry. It is a difficult endeavor indeed to speak of God and avoid an unimaginative, over-literalization of human language (which often leads to heresy) and a rigid orthodoxy that is devoid of any literary art.
The Anglican tradition is far from the only strand of Christianity that values poetry, but when I think of Anglicanism I inevitably think of poetry. The poetic tradition within the English language is a who’s who list of Anglicans: John Donne, Thomas Traherne, W.H. Auden, T.S. Eliot, and of course, George Herbert, to name a few. I think that poetry is especially compatible with Anglicanism because our via media or “middle way,” at its best, strives for a humility when speaking about God. There is latent within this a sense of via negativa or "negative theology”: who God is is found most powerfully in what we can’t say about God.
Scripture itself is full of poetry—not just the genres themselves, but the use of words and echoes of the Old Testament within the New and hymns of God’s majesty inserted into other kinds of texts. Liturgies are poetic, where time is not linear and where we encounter Scripture much differently than how we might meet it in a Bible study. Some of the best sermons I know are poetic. Christians are fairly inept at understanding the power by which the Holy Spirit fires our imaginations to lead us into all truth. Truth is too powerful to be confined to our fallible human constructs.
It seems fitting that for this year’s Advent Quiet Day we explore the poetry of George Herbert (1593-1633), an Anglican priest, renowned orator, musician, and astounding poet. Herbert’s poetry is deeply theological and also deeply musical (the best poetry is!). Words light up with unexpected resonances, and the verses sing. And yet within this beauty of language are deep truths of God and the human soul in relation to God. One can sense that Herbert was all too aware of his frailty and sinfulness, and he wrestles with this in his poetry. But he always arrives at the truth that so often evades our consciousness: God’s mercy, forgiveness, and love are persistent in trying to meet us. And often, relishing our own frailty and sinfulness is a form of pride that prevents us from being close to God, almost deliberately so [see his poem “Love (III”].
As we pray through the fleeting days of this Advent, I invite you to consider attending tomorrow’s Advent Quiet Day. Parishioner Donald McCown will explore poems of Herbert and offer instruction in entering into a state of contemplative awareness. And Sarah Cunningham, a world-renowned viol player affiliated with our Main Line Early Music Concert series, will perform viol music of Tobias Hume (c. 1549-1645) a rough contemporary of Herbert’s. This year’s Advent Quiet Day is a gift in a season of busyness to slow down, breathe, and pray through the art of poetry and music. Mass will be offered in the middle of the day, and our day will be flanked by Morning and Evening Prayer. Simple breakfast fare and lunch will be provided.
I hope to see some of you on Saturday, and may these final days of Advent be an opportunity for you to encounter the poetry of God
Yours in Christ,
Father Kyle