Christian poets: John Donne: Holy Sonnets 14

14

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for You

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, 'and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurped town, to 'another due, 

Labor to 'admit You, but O, to no end;

Reason, Your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly' I love you, 'and would be loved fain,

But I am betrothed unto your enemy.

Divorce me, 'untie or break that knot again;

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you' enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

     Donne begins this poem by making a strange appeal to God -- "Batter my heart". This is a far cry from our most common requests -- calm my heart, mend my heart, or keep my heart. To batter is to break down and destroy; to grind down to oblivion. It means that what the heart treasures most may very well be subjected to severe suffering and loss.

     I think that crafting a poem is very like creating a sculpture. One must carve with language to create not just a picture, but a thing. So, with this first word, "batter," Donne begins to chisel away at his thesis -- God must first work within our hearts to destroy the negative effects of sin before he can begin to work on rebuilding us into the likeness of his son. Philippians 2:13 reminds us that "it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure." God is performing a great remodeling project in our hearts, but first he must demolish the old and clear out the space before he can install the new and eternal.

     Donne appeals to Triune God ("three-personed God") to do this work within us. The verbs he chooses in the lines that follow illustrate the Trinity's individual efforts  as well as God's collective work. The Son knocks, the Spirit breathes, the Father shines. God begins to enact his plan to mend the fallen soul. His power then breaks sin's hold as Christ was broken for us, blows away our faults by the wind of the Spirit, and burns away the dross of our lives by the Father's refiner's fire -- all this to make us new. At last, the old is gone, the new has come. (2Cor. 5:17)

     Certainly our own resources are not equal to this task. Reason (correct thinking and the knowledge gained through learning) would seem to be able to affect change, but it cannot. It too is captive to sin and proves weak or unfaithful. Our best laid plans so often go wrong when we do not surrender to the wise and worthwhile plans of God to mold us into Christ likeness.

     Finally, Donne reminds us that the greatest desire of man's heart is to be loved by God: "Yet dearly' I love you and would be loved fain." But sin, whether we realize it or not, acts as a barrier to that love. In fact, we are engaged to it; our broken will has been unwittingly surrendered to a false lover. We must be divorced from sin so that we may be married to Christ. And in this love resides one of the great paradoxes of Christianity -- we are bound to Christ in love, which sets us free to love. We are only made pure by partaking of his true romance. The sculpture (but, in reality, the persons) God has formed us into comprise our new identity as his bride the church, which he has loved, renewed and redeemed "so that he might present the church to himself in splendor..." (Ephesians 5:27, ESV) In light of this glorious goal, may we (with Donne) humbly pray that we may be brought low. 

Christian Poets: John Donne, Holy Sonnets I

I

Thou hast made me,and shall thy work decay?

Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;

I run to death, and death meets me as fast, 

And all my pleasures are like yesterday.

I dare not move my dim eyes any way, 

Despair behind, and death before doth cast

Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste

By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh.

Only thou art above, and when towards thee 

By thy leave I can look, I rise again; 

But our old subtle foe so tempteth me

The not one hour myself I can sustain.

Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, 

And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

     John Donne (1572-1631) is known for his love poems; first, for his poems about his love for women, and second, for his poems about God's love for him. The poem above is from those collected after his death in the volume Divine Poems, and is the first of the 19 Holy Sonnets. These poems address the universal questions of life and death, creation and decay, significance and loss. Eternal life is contrasted against mortal brevity; human pain against the joy that never ends.

     Donne begins by asking a question about mortality: Does what God has made (particularly in the case of humanity) ever truly pass away? It seems as if anything God has formed with his hands should innately have an eternal quality about it, coming as it does from the Father of Lights. Mankind was given the breath of life on the day of his creation, and this breath will never cease to be. In Ecclesiastes, the Teacher reminds us that God has "set eternity in our hearts." Our souls will never die, but our physical bodies are quite another story. We are on a collision course with death.

     But, even so, we have a bigger problem: because of sin, our souls have already died and we cannot, in or by our mortal life affect its repair. Only God, through the power of what St. Augustine called the "first resurrection" can give our souls the life they lost so long ago. As for the body, Paul writes, "What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable." Yet Donne finds, as we all do, that the impact of sin, though forgiven, still lingers, and is subject to Satan's subtle temptations. On our own, he laments, we cannot sustain a holy life for even one small hour.

     Yet here it is that God's great movement of grace, as strong as that cosmic force of magnetism, flows from him into the feebleness of our lives. His grace is strong enough to overthrow evil powers and influences. His grace causes us to cling to him because he has bound himself to us. But in the church today we have co-opted a faded view of this grace. The word is tossed about like a tennis ball, the universal answer to every problem, physical and spiritual. Grace is being worn at the edges and its true meaning and power are fading even in its over familiarity. 

     We must, therefore, heed Donne's lesson -- never make grace into something less than what it is, something spread in a general and whimsical way over the Christian landscape.We must fly on the wings of the Holy Spirit to the place where we may receive and understand the truth of grace for what it truly is -- the power and presence of God that covers all our sin. There, grace never lets us go; it binds us to the heart of God by a power that eradicates our sin and raises both body and soul from death's decay. 

Holy Sonnet I, in The Norton Anthology of Poetry

  

Nature seeks the supernatural

     In his book, The Everlasting Man, G.K. Chesterton makes an interesting comment, almost as an aside: "Nature is always looking for the supernatural." And so it is; therefore, a concise statement such as this is easy to brush over. But, like so much of Chesterton, upon closer examination, this little phrase gives us much to think about and, when comprehended, is able to rock the very foundations of conventional thought about nature and its connection to God. (For most think that nature stands alone, unknowing, and even Christians think that nature stand aside, unneeded.)
     My first thought was admittedly a bit mundane -- "that's how God feeds the animals." Psalm 104 teaches us that God is the almighty caregiver to all of nature; he provides water for plants, plants and water for birds, fish and animals. "These all look to you to give them their food at the proper time. When you give it to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are satisfied with good things." (v. 27,28) Nature is not conscious of God's person, as we are, but it operates under his presence, ever sustained by his rule. Because it was not blinded by sin, nature unrelentingly gazes upon its Creator; yet the veil of our sin often blurs that view.
         Still, the beauty of nature reflects the glory of God through its steady gaze upon him. It points to the Creator and calls to us to look upwards as well. "I lift up my eyes to the hills -- where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth," affirms the Psalmist. The prophet Isaiah tells us that trees do not merely sway in the wind; they "clap their hands." Mountains and hills do not just rise majestically above the landscape; they "burst into song." Nature praises God unknowingly, for all that it is, and all that gives to us is wrapped up in the Creator's work within it. If you take him away, all of nature disappears; it cannot stand alone. Nature reflects God's purposes on a cosmic stage, as the dialogues in the book of Job reveal to us: Elihu says, "[God] brings the clouds to punish men, or to water his earth and show his love. Listen to this, Job; stop and consider God's wonders." (Job 37:13,14) Nature has not only a supernatural view, but a supernatural revelation as well.
        And mankind, God's own, created for fellowship with him, yet fallen into alienation and disobedience, also seeks (sometimes purposefully, often unknowingly) for God. Blaise Pascal wrote, "There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every man which cannot be filled be any created thing, but only by God, the Creator, made known through Jesus." This hole in our hearts was formed by the destructive forces of sin that distance us from God and fill us with an undefinable despair. We try to fill this void with other things; either created things that we have twisted to fit our dark purposes, or fallen ideas that rise from the dregs of our troubled selves. Even when we see a connection to God in nature, we try to strip that away because we do not want to face God. Like Adam and Eve, we are still hiding in a beautiful, but shabby garden.
      Jesus alone is big enough and holy enough to fill the hole in our hearts. As he, by faith and with grace, enters in, he pushes aside the emptiness within our lifeless souls, and fill us with a glorious re-creation of life. Our nature now has not only sought but been found by the Supernatural. Jesus said, "But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself." The gospel account adds that he said this to prophecy his death upon the Cross. A cross is a violation of nature; a tree that once rejoiced in the wind brutally twisted into a tool of destruction; a "cursed" thing as Paul said. But reaching high in hope and stretching wide with love, the Cross expands to fill all that we had lost. "But God forbid that I should glory," Paul declares, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world." (Gal. 6:14, KJV) We only regain our vision of God and see his vision for us through the Cross, and in seeing this, we look away from the natural world to see the supernatural.
     But this is not the end of the story. As believers, we know that a great resolution is coming, the redemption of all things, in which "the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality." (1Cor. 15:53) Nature, faded and torn, looks wistfully for that day. An unwritten longing hangs over creation, a desire to be delivered from death and decay, to be formed at last as new in a new heaven and earth. And we, who also now look towards heaven by the gift of grace, may articulate what nature cannot say, "Even so come, Lord Jesus." Make us whole again, give us rest in you as our eyes look to you -- "I wait for the Lord, my soul waits...more than watchmen wait for the morning." (Ps. 130:5,6)    

Perspective

     On Sunday, we took a look at one of Chesterton's most well-known stories; "the Lamp Post", from his book, Heretics. In the introduction to The Everlasting Man, we encounter two more tales: "the boy who leaves home to find a giant" and "man meets horse." All of these stories are about perspective and how we see the world, especially how Christians should see the world or, as the Apostle John put it, the cosmos. ("The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever." 1John 2:17)
     The main premise of The Everlasting Man is that the world, as well as many who claim to be Christians, do not see the Church correctly, and therefore do not understand it or follow it, because they are viewing it from the wrong perspective. He writes, "The point of this book, in other words, is that the next best thing to being really inside Christendom is to be really outside it." (p. 9) And to illustrate this he tells a little tale about a boy who leaves his family farm on the hillside in search of "something, such as the effigy and grave of some giant." Having traveled far and long, he turns around to catch one last glimpse of home, only to see a gigantic figure carved in the hillside above the farm. The traces of the giant had been with him all the time; he had been to close to them to see it. Chesterton is telling us that, in order to get a firm grip on what Christianity is and what it means, we must every so often step back from it and see it from a perspective that is far removed from it or what it has become. Then we well see the faith with a renewed clarity -- we will dive again into the wonder of all the things we have yet to know, learn and experience.
     To further illustrate this point, Chesterton remarks that perhaps we should look at Christianity from some sort of alien viewpoint, say, that of a "Confucian." He is so sufficiently different from a Christian that his line of thinking on our faith will open up new vistas of understanding for us; he will, quite innocently, help us to see the Cross, "towering over the wrecks of time." Several years ago, when I was teaching a high school Bible class, I had an experience that illustrates this perfectly. In an attempt to get my students to see Jesus as the unique person who he truly is, I showed them clips from the movie Godspell. The music from this work had greatly influenced me as at teenager, when it opened my eyes to the greater world of Christianity beyond my rigid Baptist upbringing. ("All good gifts around us, are sent from heaven above -- So praise the Lord, Oh, praise the Lord, for all his love.) But when my students saw it, they laughed, nervously, really, because it was so unlike any  mundane Sunday School story of Jesus they had ever heard. They weren't ready to sing and dance and wear the colorful clothes of what redemption really is and to know the Christ who invites us into his unending joy.
      And herein lies Chesterton's most important point -- most of us are neither too close nor far enough way in our view of Christianity. We "...cannot get out of the penumbra of Christian controversy... [we] live in the shadow of the faith and have lost the light of the faith." (p. 10,11) Chesterton linked this to the theological controversies of his day, but this intermediate view, this preoccupation with minor persuasions, has dogged the Church from the beginning and follows us still. Everybody seems to have something fixate upon -- music, money, lifestyle choices, social issues, even the fundamental meaning of the fundamentals themselves. But to see the faith in the clear light of the Gospel, we must travel to a far-off point indeed, one that stands outside of this world, somewhere in the neither-land between here and Heaven.
      We should see this as a great, overwhelming vision of hope; a vision not unlike ancient man seeing a horse for the first time -- a great and powerful beast, looming above his head, yet inviting him to sit upon his back and go for a ride. As the cosmos presses in on us with ever-increasing intensity, we must with equal desire, as our Lord instructed us, "...lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." If we are looking towards heaven, or taking the view from heaven, we will see life in the proper perspective. To do so is to repossess the hope of Christianity, the certainty of the Kingdom that comes, a treasure "still as new as it is old." (p. 19)
 
Chesterton, G.K. The Everlasting Man. San Francisco, Ignatius Press, 1993, 2008.  

Essence and Existence

     Question 3 of Summa Theologica concerns "the simplicity of God." When we consider this question we are initially tempted to say (as we are of the Summa itself), "There's nothing simple about it!" That's because the medieval use of "simple" is different from today's usage. We think of simple as easy to grasp or understand, uncomplicated. They were thinking of oneness, or something that is a unity in itself. So, the question can be posed in terms of: "How is God one?" or, "How should we think about the oneness of God?"
     He starts out by telling us that we cannot so much as know what or who God is, as we can think of it in terms of what he is not. He addresses the questions of whether God has a body, or if God is made up of matter and form together. The answer to both is no -- God is not corporal, and he is not matter, for he created it. He has a unique form, his essence; he is God and he is godly.
     The question I am looking at here is (paraphrased): Are "essence" and "existence" the same thing in Who God is? Earlier, St. Thomas Aquinas has told us that God's essence and existence are the same thing, and we know this by his effects. For example, God is good to us (effect) because God is (existence) good (essence). Now he wants of dive deeper into why essence and existence are the same for God. I don't know if I've got all my ducks lined up in a row here; just think of it has mental gymnastics, and I probably won't get a 10. But these things are challenging to think about, and we all need to be challenged!
      An objection of his to this is: God exists, but that is separate from what he is. Today, we are prone to separate the fact that God exists from his characteristics. We think more in terms of  "God loves" than "God is love". God's very existence is viewed as just another of his traits. But that does not impress upon us the oneness of God. Although it is hard for us to do, we must think of God in greater terms than just what he does or what he is like. As God said to Isaiah, "I am the Lord, that is my name." (Isa.42:8) In response to this objection he gives a quote from St. Hilary, who opposed the Arian heresy in the 300's. "In God existence is not an accidental (non-substantial) quality, but subsisting truth." St. Thomas adds, "Therefore what subsists in God is his existence." St. Thomas then gives us 3 "proofs" for this concept.
     1. In the case of things or people, existence is different from essence because it is either caused by an outside agent or it is an element of one's overall make-up. (The existence of heat is caused by fire; laughter is a part of humanness, he explains.) But, God is the First Cause of all existence outside of himself -- he is uncaused -- he simply is.
      2. Existence makes things real, or, to use St. Thomas' word, "actual." Things are said to be real because they exist. Essence (the qualities of a thing) are part of its reality. If something that has essence is real, it must exist. (Apolo, my dog exists because he is a real dog. His doggyness is part of his reality. Apolo's doggyness is real (proven by his smell!), so he must exist!) In the world of things and people, existence can be real in a particular way (actual) or subject to change (potential). (Apolo is a certain age today, but he will get older.) But God, because his existence is (as in his name I AM), does not change; his reality is always constant.
     3. Something (X) that is not something else (Y) may participate in (share in, be involved in) the something else (X in Y). But the existences are separate. A frog is in the water and it is wet, but the frog exists separate from the water. Also, the essences of a frog and water are different. But the water has an effect on the frog; it makes him wet. But God does not participate in anything else. He is singular, he is one, he is the beginning and the end, he is all in all.
     So, God is God Who exists. Simple, but incomprehensible...    
     

A beginning and an ending

     St. Thomas Aquinas is mainly known for the "median" of his life -- his great work Summa Theologica, which took him nine years to write and touches upon almost every area of Christian doctrine, and which, in the end, was never finished. But the beginning of the Summa, (i.e, the introduction, or prologue) and the way both the book and St. Thomas' life ended have much to say not only about who he was, but also about how we should look at the study of theology.
      St. Thomas made his introduction short and sweet and to the point. He intends to "instruct beginners" in the science of theology. We cannot resist a bit of a chuckle at this statement, although I'm not so sure St. Thomas would get the joke. (A thousand pages of simplicity? Seriously?) However, it's not really so much that the Summa is complicated as it is dense. It is packed full of concentrated truth, and in order for us beginners to get it, we need to unpack it. He really does deal in the basics of the Christian faith, but to grasp what he is saying, one must constantly rephrase it in one's own terms and words. The Summa must be made personal so that it may become worthwhile. Yet once we become familiar with this mode of discourse, it becomes fascinating and, dare I say it, hard to put down.
     St. Thomas also says that he wants to eliminate the useless questions and arguments and the repetition found in other theological texts. This seems a little funny as well, since his whole treatise is based on questions (423 of them!) and their accompanying arguments. But we must conclude, no doubt, that St. Thomas thought every single one was essential and practical! True to his word, he rarely repeats a thing, showing the amazing scope of his knowledge of spiritual things, his precise perception of truth, and his unfailing devotion to his task.
       But, I believe, the impact of the Summa is best understood by the story of the end of St. Thomas Aquinas' life. In 1273, while part 3 of the Summa was being written, he is reported to have seen a vision of Christ who spoke to him and said, "You have written well of me, Thomas. What will you have as your reward?" To which he replied (as we all should), "Only thyself, Lord." After this experience, he stopped writing, giving this explanation, "I can write no more; compared with what I have seen, all I have written seem to me as straw." A short time later, he died and left the Summa unfinished. (Kreeft, p.33) He profoundly echoed the sentiments of the Apostle Paul, who wrote, "...I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things." (Phil. 3:8) He articulates for all of us who teach the Gospel the paradox of discussing spiritual truth -- how do you say something for which there are no earthly words? How do you explain the incomprehensible? Somehow it all seems like a heap of straw when set beside "the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ" -- the treasure we hold dear in jars of clay. (2Cor.4:6,7)
     Whenever I consider the story of the end of St. Thomas Aquinas' life, I am reminded of the words of a song by the contemporary Christian singer and songwriter, Michael Card.
          That is the mystery
          More than you can see
          Give up on your pondering
          Fall down on your knees.
Or, as the Apostle Paul said, "Great is the mystery of godliness..."  It is, of course, good and right to study Scripture and to contemplate the order of theology. It is immensely important to know God and to learn about his truth. But, in the end, it is all a great and powerful mystery, something that is certainly not fully known here on earth and which will be, to our eternal delight, explored infinitely in heaven. Seeing the mystery is heart of Christian theology; a vision that will transform our souls and set us on a collision course with the wonder that only the Spirit reveals. Everything else is just so much straw.

Kreeft, Peter. Summa of the Summa. San Francisco, Ignatius Press, 1990.

           

St. Augustine addresses the topic of "religious pluralism"

(Equip class 4/28/2013)
     I am always amazed and often surprised by the breadth and depth of St. Augustine's knowledge and wisdom on so many divergent topics. He seems to have been the prototype of the Renaissance man, long before the Renaissance. Not only that, he possessed the uncanny ability to discuss questions that are timeless; questions that keep coming up in every generation; the ones that we think are new to our times, but which have really been here all along. The one that seemed to leap off the page for me this week is the question of pluralism -- a question that asks whether or not everyone in the world can be saved.
     Just to be clear, the topic of religious pluralism has been framed in several different ways. It can deal with who Christ died for -- everyone or the elect? It can deal with who goes to Heaven when they die -- everyone, people who have "faith," or, only those who are saved by faith in Christ? Or, it can deal with whether or not Christianity offers the only true path to God. It is this last point which St. Augustine addresses. Having discussed our salvation through the sacrifice of Christ (who both made and was the sacrifice for our sins,) he writes, "This religion (Christianity) constitutes the single way for the liberation of all souls, for souls can be saved by no way but this." (p. 198)
     In contrast to this claim, St. Augustine cites the Neoplatonic philosopher, Porphyry, who lived about 100 years before Augustine's lifetime. He says that Porphyry "...[had] not yet come across the claim, made by any school of thought, to embrace a universal way for the liberation of the soul," adding that he was not able to find such a claim in any philosophy or religion, including the religions of India and the Chaldaeans. (p. 198) St. Augustine found it interesting that, for all of Porphyry's talk about the enlightening insights he had gained from studying other religions, he still had to admit that he had found no way that could liberate (save) any soul in any place in the world at any time. But, Porphyry believed, (Augustine suggests,) that a "universal" way must exist: "he does not believe that Divine Providence could have left the human race without this universal way for the liberation of the soul...he had not yet come across it..." (p. 199) St. Augustine adds that this was not surprising in light of the fact that Porphyry lived during the time of the great persecution of the Church, and therefore did not consider Christianity because he believed it would die out. (p. 200)
     St. Augustine is telling us here that there is a way for the citizens of the earthly city to be redeemed, for their souls to be set free and for them to enter the Kingdom of God. But all who come to God must come through this one way; salvation though the death and resurrection of Christ. This way to God opened up "by divine mercy" and at exactly the right time in God's plan for the human race. It began many years ago with the promise made to Abraham, that all nations would be blessed through his descendants. It continued on through the message of the Old Testament prophets, who spoke with certainty of the Deliverer who was coming to set the souls of men free. And when he did come, and he died, and he came to life again, he instructed the apostles to take the message of salvation, the Way to God, to all the nations of the world.
     St. Augustine wraps up his discussion of the one way of salvation by emphasizing its unique yet limitless scope. He says the Porphyry and the other philosophers looked for the way of salvation in divination, soothsaying and magic but found these things to be meaningless. (p. 203) The real revelation of the path to God is found in Scripture and is articulated by the Gospel, of which St. Augustine gives a wonderful summary statement, very much like a succinct creed: "...the coming of Christ in the flesh...the repentance of men and the conversion of their wills to God; the remission of sins, the grace that justifies, the faith of the saints, and the multitude of men throughout the whole world who believe in His true divinity..." (p. 203) There is a way to God, and it runs through the narrow way of the cross, yet it is open to anyone who walks upon it by faith in Jesus Christ --  anyone, anywhere, any time.


St. Augustine, City of God, abridged ed., trans. by Walsh, et.al. New York, Doubleday, 1958.

More thoughts on Creation

(Equip 4/21/2013)
     St. Augustine wrote extensively on the subject of Creation. He writes about it in the last section of Confessions, in several books of City of God, especially Book 11, and in a book called The Literal Interpretation of Genesis. It seems as if he wanted to write a commentary on the Bible, but got stuck at the beginning -- there was just so much to think about, so much to marvel at. In this post, we will consider some of his interesting observations from Book 11(mainly) of City of God.
     One of the questions St. Augustine raises concerns how we know that God is the Creator. Even in his time, naturalism was alive and well. He cites a well-known writer, Varro, as believing that "...the soul and the elements of the universe are the true gods," and "...God is the soul of the universe or cosmos...and the cosmos itself is God." (p. 137) A popular philosophy maintained that the universe had always existed, and was perpetually renewing itself. In fact, he even mentions ideas similar to today's theories of the multiverse and evolution. (p. 258, 259) So to answer this question, St. Augustine begins by addressing the issue of how changeable physical things can come from an unchangeable God.
     The physical things we observe with our five senses are real, but God did not bring them into being by either literal physical speech or through "apparitions." God speaks in a greater way; he speaks truth: "But He speaks by means of the truth itself, and to all who can hear it with the mind rather that with the body." (p. 206) God has the power, by means of the truth (which he is) to "...[give] life to the dead and [call] things that are not as though they were." (Rom. 4:17) God "speaks" Scripture in the same way. His truth goes directly to our souls, where it can be perceived and believed. Therefore, Gen.1:1, "In the beginning, God created...," is not just a statement of fact using words, but a truth which is understood through the revealing work of the Holy Spirit. We need to get past the idea that physical things must come from physical roots.
     St. Augustine also says that nature itself reveals that it was made by God. "...the very order, changes and movements in the universe, the very beauty of form in all that is visible, proclaim, however silently, both that the world as created and also that its Creator could be none other than God..." (p. 209) Nature shows its divine origins by both the beauty it displays, because that beauty bears the stamp of God, who is truly beautiful, and by the way it changes. Today we think of change in evolutionary terms -- things change to survive or better themselves, as it were, but true change comes from movement, and the greatest movement acting on any living thing is the movement of God's love. This is why orthodox Christianity declares that God created out of his goodness. It was the force, so to speak, behind his creation of creatures to love. St Augustine reminds points out that God's declaration in Gen. 1 of all things as "good" does not merely mean that he was congratulating himself on a job well done, but "...it was one and the same to God to see that what He had made was good and to see that it was good to make it." (p. 227) God only does good things and gives good gifts because he is good.
    St. Augustine was very intrigued by the problem of creation and time. Much could be written about his discussion of this issue, but I will only mention a few points here. First, he says that time is characterized by movement and change, while eternity is not. Since we know God to be eternal, we know that he exists beyond time. Creation, however, moves and changes, from the love through which it came, as mentioned above, but also because it exists in time, the first of God's creative works. He writes, "Undoubtedly, then, the world was made not in time but together with time." And, "The fact is that the world was made simultaneously with time, if, with creation, motion and change began." (p. 212) He goes into some interesting discussions about time, here in City of God, and also in Confessions. He concludes that since God is outside of time "atemporal," if you will, or existing in "non-time," it really did not take any time for God to create the world, yet he used time in his creative process. Almost as if anticipating our confusion over the issue of the time-stamp word "day" used in Gen. 1, he concludes, "As for these 'days,' it is difficult, perhaps impossible to think -- let alone explain in words -- what they mean." (p. 212) Quite the master of understatement, there!
     Today we know that light (the speed of light) is the chronometer of time. In one of his many interesting and almost prophetic statements on this subject, he wrote, "Perhaps there is a material light in the far reaches of the universe which are out of sight. Or it may mean the light from which the sun was afterwards kindled." (p. 213) Billions of years ago, when the light from the Big Bang first blazed, at God's command, into the darkness of nothing, light became the marker both for what God did and when he did it. Through the voice of the Psalmist, God urged us to look to the stars in the night sky to learn about his mighty works, limitless power and enduring love. "The heavens declare the the glory of God..." (Ps. 19:1)

St. Augustine, City of God, abridged ed., trans. by Walsh, et.al. New York, Doubleday, 1958.


     

Beyond the gods

   (Equip class 4/14/13)
     St. Augustine begins his book, City of God, by addressing the argument that the city of Rome had been attacked in 410 by the Goths because the society had been dissuaded from worshiping their traditional gods due to the influence of Christianity. The Christians were being accused of contributing to the downfall of Rome, even though they had provided shelter and sustenance to both pagans and Christians during the attack. St. Augustine begins by encouraging his readers to take a closer look at the pagan gods -- were they really powerful enough to prevent an enemy invasion?
     He states (in his very forthright and blunt way) that the pagan gods were a sorry lot: "Just think of the kind of gods to whose protection the Romans were content to entrust their city! No more pathetic illusion could be imagined." (p. 42) He goes on to point out that it was not just the Christians who were critical of the gods; even the great poets had expressed their doubts as to the true power of the deities. The pantheon of gods had degenerated into petty, infighting, fictional characters, devoid of real virtue and strength. It seems that the ancient Romans worshiped their gods as a matter of habit or rote without taking them very seriously. But when bad things happened and the gods were expected to come to their rescue, they fully expected a mighty show of power. As Rome fell, and no answer came from the pagan gods, they began to blame the "atheists," the Christians who revered the one true God, believed to possess all power.
     This story reminded me of the question G.K. Chesterton poses in his book, The Everlasting Man. Did polytheism, the worship of many gods, arise prior to monotheism, the worship of one God? Or is it the other way around? Now, bear in mind that Chesterton did not consider himself to be an expert in these matters. He was, however, an incredible observer of human nature, and his observations were not limited to his own time and place. He was able to sit back and analyse history from the vantage point of timeless, orthodox Christianity.
     Chesterton contends that, behind the pagan mythologies, there stands a knowledge of the one true God, which mankind held for such a short time before the Fall into sin. But this knowledge was very "big," and it was remembered more by its absence than its remembrance. The knowledge of God was lost, abandoned, turned away from. Down through the ages, it has manifested itself in a great and profound "silence." (p.92) God had been among men, but when Heaven and Earth were torn apart by the Fall, a vast emptiness opened up and all the remembrance of God poured into it. God had planted "eternity into the hearts of men (Ecc. 3:11), but their recollection of it became a shadowy sort of de ja vue.
     Chesterton goes on to argue that mankind had to somehow fill up or block this abyss into which they fell, so they covered it with talk; contrived tales destined to divert our attention away from the silence of Heaven. These stories, found in every nation of the world, are known as folklore or mythology. The powerful, authoritative main characters in the stories emerged as the pagan gods. Personally, as a children's librarian, I find many of these stories delightful. My favorites are the tales of the Native Americans. Yet, beyond the gods of all mythology, there stands an unanswered and unutterable question -- who is the greatest God and why do we not remember him?
     Today we live in a world (or a city) very much like the one where St. Augustine lived and worked. Paganism, mystery religions and Christianity interact in a swirling, confusing melee. We are daily confronted by stories that try to gloss over the empty hole in the world. We try to use words to bridge the infinite barrier between heaven and earth while heaven bears down on us with all those great and troublesome questions that have plagued mankind for so long. And, now, with technology as our tool, we are creating a monstrous, unceasing buzz of words aimed at silencing the silence forever.
     Yet, there is and always has been a Word spoken into the void. It is the Word of revelation; the declaration of nature, Christ the Word incarnate, the Word of prophecy recorded and preserved. God speaks and tells us not a story, but the truth, a Word so powerful that it mends what was broken and brings Heaven and Earth back together again. This Word is Gospel -- "Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried , that he was raised on the third day..." (1Cor. 15:3,4) This is the message that gives us power in an impotent world, the knowledge that imparts hope, and invites us into fellowship with the Lord of All.

St. Augustine, City of God, abridged ed., trans. by Walsh, et.al. New York, Doubleday, 1958.
Chesterton, G.K., The Everlasting Man, San Francisco, Ignatius Press, 2008.