Liturgical Nerds

The best theology, the most refined reflections, the deepest piety, the most soaring praise — these all have an element of the poetic in them. If you don’t understand or can’t love poetry, then reading the Bible must be drudgery. Hear, then, three seasonal poems on the theme of the Incarnation. First, Christina Rossetti’s 1872 “In the Bleak Midwinter,” now set to music as a popular Christmas carol (though, sadly, with much of the deep theological content excised in most renditions).

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

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.

Next,  from across the pond, R S Thomas, the Welsh priest and poet, holds us in his gaze with “The Coming” (1978).

And God held in his hand
a small globe. Look he said.
The son looked. Far off,
as through water, he saw
a scorched land of fierce
colour. The light burned
there; crusted buildings
cast their shadows: a bright
serpent, a river
uncoiled itself, radiant
with slime.
On a bare
hill a bare tree saddened
the sky. Many people
held out their thin arms
to it, as though waiting
for a vanished April
to return to its crossed
boughs. The son watched
them. Let me go there, he said.

Finally, the haunting “Bethlehem Down.” Composed by Bruce Blunt and set in a haunting choral melody by Philip Arnold Heseltine, and submitted for the Daily Telegraph’s annual carol contest in 1927 (to finance a night-long drinking bout, no less). Needless to say, it won. (Download the song from iTunes)

“When he is King we will give him the Kings’ gifts,

Myrrh for its sweetness, and gold for a crown,

Beautiful robes,” said the young girl to Joseph,

Fair with her first-born on Bethlehem Down.

Bethlehem Down is full of the starlight —

Winds for the spices, and stars for the gold,

Mary for sleep, and for lullaby music

Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.

When he is King they will clothe him in grave-sheets,

Myrrh for embalming, and wood for a crown,

He that lies now in the white arms of Mary,

Sleeping so lightly on Bethlehem Down.

Here he has peace and a short while for dreaming,

Close-huddled oxen to keep him from cold,

Mary for love, and for lullaby music

Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.