Celtic Advent - Day XXVII - December 11

 

Celtic Advent - Day XXVII - December 11

Oh God who took on human flesh

that you might be intimate with us;

may we so taste and touch you

in our bodily life

that we may discern and celebrate

your body in the world,

through Jesus Christ. Amen. 

~ Prayer for the Feast of Corpus Christi (1 Cor 11:23-29)

Janet Morely "All Desires Known"

Patience has never been my long suit. In fact, I flat out stink at it. 

Oh, I can rise to the occasion, when necessary. Pregnancy is one of those necessities. I've had three. All three babies arrived before their due date by a week or two. They seemed to know their mother well, even before they were born.

One of the things about the characters in scripture - both Hebrew and Christian - is that they seem to have such patience. Then again, things did move much more slowly in antiquity. No one had watches on their wrists or clocks on their walls. 

Time was measured not in minutes but days, which were measured by rising of the sun and the noon sun and the setting of the sun. Time was also measured in seasons and the tasks assigned to those seasons - sewing, planting, harvesting, shearing. 

So, it's affirming to me that the psalmists write so often about "having" patience or "be patient" or counsel "be still". And, the author of Ecclesiastes (3:1-8) writes: "For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."

So, even though time may not have been measured or marked in the same way, it is, in some way, reassuring to know that impatience is a condition common to the human experience. 

Patience is difficult because there are several components to it. Longing is one. Longing for the thing one has to wait for. Longing for the object of your desire. 

Longing and desire complicate the matter of patience. Longing is a very strong emotion, as is desire. Yes, both have sexual overtones to them, but even when the psalmists talk about longing for God, they do so in terms that paint a picture of the force of that urge.

"As the dear longs for the water brook, so longs my soul for you, O God." Psalm 42:1

"O God, thou art my God, I seek thee,

     my soul thirsts for thee;

    my flesh faints for thee,

     as in a dry and weary land where no water is." Psalm 63

"I stretch out my hands to You;

My soul longs for You, as a parched land. Selah" Psalm 143:6

Those are just three examples of many in the psalms. You can feel the urgency, the impatience, the longing, the desire of the writer to be with God. 

And then, there are the explicit sexual verses in Song of Solomon which, even though God is never mentioned, is explained by many scholars as an allegory of the love between God and the people of Israel. There is no doubting the embodiment and urgency and and intimacy and impatience of the desire for union with God. 

And then, there is prayer as the erotic, probably best known in the writings of Teresa of Avila, founder of the order of the Discalced Carmelites. In her autobiography, Teresa describes a profound and  ecstatic religious experience at the hands of an angel who disembowels her with a gold-tipped spear. She finds the pain so excruciating that it is glorious, and it causes her to surrender herself wholly to God. 

Here's a passage from Chapter XXIX, part 17 of Teresa's Autobiography

"I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it."

Her narration is profoundly erotic. The overtly sexual nature of this passage has not been lost on countless readers over generations of time. 

What are we to make of this? What are we to do with the writer of the Song of Solomon describing the relationship of God and the people of Israel in a highly sexualized allegory? 

What are we to make of the psalmists words which carry the impatience of a lover, filled with desire and longing? 

What are we to make of the fairly sterilized, clearly sexless impregnation of Mary "by the Holy Spirit" and her "virgin birth"? Yes, it was supposed to have been a miracle. Indeed. But why was it necessary for God, who wanted to come to us in human form, to deny the very human experience of desire and pleasure to Mary? 

I wonder. 

I wonder if Mary had an opportunity to tell the story of her experience with Gabriel and the Holy Spirit, how different it would be from Luke's version of the Annunciation?  I wonder what she told Joseph in the quiet intimacy of their bed. 

I wonder what Mary shared with her mother, Anne? I wonder what she and Elizabeth talked about during her visitation? Surely her "cousin" was curious and might have asked her what that was like when "the Holy Spirit came on you and the power of the Most High covered you." (Luke 1:26-38)

I wonder. 

I wonder how much richer and fuller our prayer life would be if we closed our prayer books and opened our hearts and spoke in what St. Paul describes as "groans and sighs too deep for words" (Romans 8:26). 

What might happen if we really believed what we pray in the Book of Common Prayer, "Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid:"?

If prayer doesn't so much change things as they change us so that we can change and transform the world, I wonder what might happen if our prayers were more embodied, more incarnate? 

I wonder. And, I'd love to have an answer. Soon, please. 

As I said earlier, patience is not my long suit.

Until an answer arrives, I offer this poem by Janet Morley in her book, "All Desires Known". It is part psalm, part Song of Solomon, with clear tones of the eroticism of St. Teresa.

What are your desires? What do you long for? What are your spiritual hunger and thirsts? How do you communicate those things to God in your prayers? 

and you held me and there were no words

and there was no time and you held me

and there was only wanting and

being held and being filled with wanting

and I was nothing but letting go

and being held

and there were no words and there

needed to be no words

and there was no terror     only stillness

and I was wanting nothing and

it was fullness and it was like aching for God

and it was touch and warmth and

darkness and no time and no words and we flowed

and I flowed and I was not empty

and I was given up to the dark and

in the darkness   I was not lost

and the wanting was like fullness and I could

hardly hold it and I was held and 

you were dark and warm and without time and

without words and you held me.

   ~ Janet Morley 

And, for good measure, here is her version of Psalm 42 (As a dear longs for the water brook)

As a woman in labour who longs for the birth,

I long for you, O God;

as she is weary to see the face of her child,

so do I seek your deliverance.

She cries out, she pants, because her pain is great,

and her longing is beyond measure;

her whole body is groaning in travail

until she shall be delivered.

My soul hungers for you

as the child for her mother's breast;

like the infant who cries out in the night,

who waits in the dark to be comforted.

At night I will cry for your justice,

and in the morning I will seek you early;

for you O God are the source of my salvation,

and all my nourishment is found in your.

As a woman looks to her friend

that she may open her heart and be free,

that her words may find understanding,

and her fears may be contained;

so do I look to you O God,

that you may search me and know my ways,

brining me judgement and tenderness,

and sending me home released. 

As the body of the lover yearns for her beloved,

so is my desire for your touch.

She cries out from her depths, she weeps,

and cannot speak

because of the beauty of her beloved.

You also have laid your hand upon me,

and I cannot forget your ways.

So I will cry for my Beloved, and I will not rest,

until I dwell in the darkness of her embrace,

and all my silence is enclosed in her. 

 ~ Janet Morley