This is the second post in this series that considers Prayer I. It was scripted thirty years ago by Alistair Beattie, and given to me as a gift. I had read Herbert's sonnet at a church service and Alistair thought it one of the most profound descriptions of prayer he had ever heard or read. So one night our door bell rang and when I went to the door there was Alistair, carrying a large envelope and apologising for turning up unannounced! This parchment is a treasure because of what lies behind Alistair's art.
Alistair taught himself calligraphy while in a Japanese concentration camp. Amongst the other prisoners was Laurens Van Der Post, whose writings he admired and with whom he had corresponded after the war. Alistair was one of the finest calligraphers, and amongst other commissions he was the official scribe for the University of Aberdeen's Honorary Doctoral parchments.
As we go through Lent, and this has been the strangest Lent in my lifetime, I have posted a daily reflection on one of Herbert's poems. I posted a picture of this script on Facebook three years ago; it came up as a FB memory today. None of us imagined in March 2017 what would befall our world in March 2020. As we all come to terms with social distancing, isolation, and the anxiety and distress of a disease that threatens so many, we need more than bland reassurances, however well meant. On the other hand we also need more than the conveyor belt of media reportage that holds us fascinated by our own fears, and threatens to undermine resolve and hopefulness.
Herbert's poem doesn't tell us how to pray or when to pray. It doesn't even tell us what prayer is. Instead he creates a word kaleidoscope of all the possibilities of prayer. As only a few examples of Herbert's imaginative tour of the human heart, the world and the universe: the banquet of the Eucharist, God's breath and human breath in reciprocal blessing, or an engine of complaint and lament against the Almighty when life falls apart, or music that is made up of an infinity of possibilities, the ordinary words that bring heaven into daily living, the life blood of the soul.
It's hard not to listen to the news. Our own anxieties, our distress for others, our hopes of a turning point, our hunger to understand what is happening and how best to look after ourselves and others. All of that. But it may be helpful to come away after listening and read George Herbert's sonnet, which inspired Alistair who suffered far more than he ever spoke about, to write out in near perfect script, this catena of invitations to pray.
Herbert is not prescriptive, telling us what prayer is. Given the endless diversity of human experience and the variety of experiences that fill the human heart, Herbert offers prayer descriptions for each heart and for any occasion.
To read Prayer I after the news from Italy, or after the daily news briefing from the Prime Minister flanked by experts whose decisions will affect our lives, means we have to take a deep breath, and look for a way to process the news that doesn't just distil it into further anxiety. The "Christ side-piercing spear" forces us to think of suffering and woundedness, but for Herbert out of the wounds of Christ flows redemptive love and God-purposed hope. "Engine against the Almightie" dares us to complain to God, yes and even to rage against the way the world is.
Or from another perspective, "Church bells beyond the stars heard" is a deeply poignant image just now for Christians who tomorrow will not be in church. That will bring its own spiritual disorientation and yet another level of loneliness. But God is still there, this is still a God-loved world. And while we might be a bit dubious about God dwelling beyond the stars, just remember that Herbert was well aware that God's presence transcends time and space. He was writing poetry not physics!
What Prayer I helps us do is match our praying to our mood, our circumstances, the way the world is, and not to worry about what God thinks! Those last two words; no we won't have answers to everything. Perplexity, anxiety, anger, negativity keep playing their menacing music. But in all our thinking and praying, Herbert brings us at last to the more modest hope, that when all of this is done, there will be "something understood."
This delicate piece of art, scripted by Alistair Beattie, has begun to fade. Life changes us, and sometimes we go through experiences that are trans-formative for us and for the world around us. The ink on my poem is fading, but the words that were written have truths that don't fade, and that can help us find ways of bringing together our broken world, our breaking hearts, and the God who first gave us breath.
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