Tag Archives: Corpus Christi

A Trio of Sonnets, and a choral setting for Corpus Christi

The Feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ), which falls this year on the 4th of June, is  a celebration of the sacrament of Holy Communion. In mediaeval times there used to be wonderful processions in which the consecrated elements were taken out of the church on this day and processed on the streets, showing that the Word made flesh was not just in a box labelled ‘church’ but in our midst, just as He was on the streets of Nazareth and Jerusalem. Rebecca Merry‘s lovely art work ( above) has the feel of those mediaeval ‘showings’ on Corpus Christi.

For my contribution to Corpus Christi I am offering here a trio of sonnets about the experience of receiving Holy Communion, each from a slightly different angle. The first two sonnets were published in Sounding the Seasons, my cycle of seventy sonnets for the Church Year.The book is now back in stock on both Amazon UK and USA and physical copies are available in Canada via Steve Bell. It is now also out on Kindle. Please feel free to make use of this, and my other sonnets in church services and to copy and share them. If you can mention the book from which they are taken that would be great. The third sonnet, which is about the 16th Century Oak communion Table in my church St. Edward King and Martyr, is from my most recent collection The Singing Bowl, also published by Canterbury Press.

Margot Krebs Neale has reflected on my phrases ‘He does not come in unimagined light ‘ and ‘to dye himself into experience’ with an image not simply of a stained glass window but of that dyed and refracted light itself reflected in water. I am grateful both to Rebecca and Margot for the way their work reflects on and develops mine. As always you can hear me read the poetry by clicking on the play button above each sonnet, if it appears, or on the title of the poem itself.


1 Love’s Choice

This bread is light, dissolving, almost air,

A little visitation on my tongue,

A wafer-thin sensation, hardly there.

This taste of wine is brief in flavour, flung

A moment to the palate’s roof and fled,

Even its aftertaste a memory.

Yet this is how He comes. Through wine and bread

Love chooses to be emptied into me.

He does not come in unimagined light

Too bright to be denied, too absolute

For consciousness, too strong for sight,

Leaving the seer blind, the poet mute;

Chooses instead to seep into each sense,

To dye himself into experience.

 

you can also hear JAC Redford’s beautiful choral setting of this sonnet from his new CD Let Beauty Be Our Memorial here

He does not come in unimagined light…


2 Hide and Seek

Ready or not, you tell me, here I come!

And so I know I’m hiding, and I know

My hiding-place is useless. You will come

And find me. You are searching high and low.

Today I’m hiding low, down here, below,

Below the sunlit surface others see.

Oh find me quickly, quickly come to me.

And here you come and here I come to you.

I come to you because you come to me.

You know my hiding places. I know you,

I reach you through your hiding-places too;

Touching the slender thread, but now I see –

Even in darkness I can see you shine,

Risen in bread, and revelling in wine.

3 This Table

The centuries have settled on this table
Deepened the grain beneath a clean white cloth
Which bears afresh our changing elements.
Year after year of prayer, in hope and trouble,
Were poured out here and blessed and broken, both
In aching absence and in absent presence.

This table too the earth herself has given
And human hands have made. Where candle-flame
At corners burns and turns the air to light
The oak once held its branches up to heaven,
Blessing the elements which it became,
Rooting the dew and rain, branching the light.

Because another tree can bear, unbearable,
For us, the weight of Love, so can this table

3 Comments

Filed under christianity, imagination, Poems

A Trio of Sonnets for Corpus Christi

The Feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ), which falls this year on the 19th of June, is  a celebration of the sacrament of Holy Communion. In mediaeval times there used to be wonderful processions in which the consecrated elements were taken out of the church on this day and processed on the streets, showing that the Word made flesh was not just in a box labelled ‘church’ but in our midst, just as He was on the streets of Nazareth and Jerusalem. Rebecca Merry‘s lovely art work ( above) has the feel of those mediaeval ‘showings’ on Corpus Christi.

For my contribution to Corpus Christi I am offering here a trio of sonnets about the experience of receiving Holy Communion, each from a slightly different angle. The first two sonnets were published in Sounding the Seasons, my cycle of seventy sonnets for the Church Year.The book is now back in stock on both Amazon UK and USA and physical copies are available in Canada via Steve Bell. It is now also out on Kindle. Please feel free to make use of this, and my other sonnets in church services and to copy and share them. If you can mention the book from which they are taken that would be great. The third sonnet, which is about the 16th Century Oak communion Table in my church St. Edward King and Martyr, will be published in my next collection The Singing Bowl, due out in November with Canterbury Press.

Margot Krebs Neale has reflected on my phrases ‘He does not come in unimagined light ‘ and ‘to dye himself into experience’ with an image not simply of a stained glass window but of that dyed and refracted light itself reflected in water. I am grateful both to Rebecca and Margot for the way their work reflects on and develops mine. As always you can hear me read the poetry by clicking on the play button above each sonnet, if it appears, or on the title of the poem itself.


1 Love’s Choice

This bread is light, dissolving, almost air,

A little visitation on my tongue,

A wafer-thin sensation, hardly there.

This taste of wine is brief in flavour, flung

A moment to the palate’s roof and fled,

Even its aftertaste a memory.

Yet this is how He comes. Through wine and bread

Love chooses to be emptied into me.

He does not come in unimagined light

Too bright to be denied, too absolute

For consciousness, too strong for sight,

Leaving the seer blind, the poet mute;

Chooses instead to seep into each sense,

To dye himself into experience.

He does not come in unimagined light…


2 Hide and Seek

Ready or not, you tell me, here I come!

And so I know I’m hiding, and I know

My hiding-place is useless. You will come

And find me. You are searching high and low.

Today I’m hiding low, down here, below,

Below the sunlit surface others see.

Oh find me quickly, quickly come to me.

And here you come and here I come to you.

I come to you because you come to me.

You know my hiding places. I know you,

I reach you through your hiding-places too;

Touching the slender thread, but now I see –

Even in darkness I can see you shine,

Risen in bread, and revelling in wine.

3 This Table

The centuries have settled on this table
Deepened the grain beneath a clean white cloth
Which bears afresh our changing elements.
Year after year of prayer, in hope and trouble,
Were poured out here and blessed and broken, both
In aching absence and in absent presence.

This table too the earth herself has given
And human hands have made. Where candle-flame
At corners burns and turns the air to light
The oak once held its branches up to heaven,
Blessing the elements which it became,
Rooting the dew and rain, branching the light.

Because another tree can bear, unbearable,
For us, the weight of Love, so can this table

6 Comments

Filed under christianity, imagination, Poems

A Brief Meditation on Time

When I walk into work I do so, for part of my journey, under the gaze of a huge black locust, visibly devouring my time!. I refer to Corpus Christi’s magnificent golden Chronophage, which I pass on my way to St. Edward’s and in particular to the monstrous locust perched on top of it, which is constantly, as the name chronophage suggests, eating time. This bizarre and beautiful clock, or rather public sculpture, is certainly a great success for the college and attracts a more or less constant crowd of intrigued onlookers. I was there at its unveiling by Stephen Hawking, and enjoyed his brief reflections, not on the science, but on the mystery of time, indeed his reflections seemed richer to me than the rather closed message delivered by the Chronophage itself,  I would like in what follows to reflect for a moment and to challenge what the Chronophage seems to be saying about time.

The Chronophage sees only that time that is constantly consumed, it sees our minutes hasten to their end; it measures ‘the years that the locust hath eaten’. This is certainly one aspect of our experience of time, but only one. Time is fleeting, but it is also constantly renewed, and for every worn and spent moment that is taken from us another is given, pristine and beautiful.

So having walked past the Chronophage, I imagine, as I continue on my way to St. Edwards, a different image. I see in my mind’s eye,on the tower of St. Edwards another beautiful clock with round golden circles like the Corpus Choronopgage. Like the Chronophage it takes its motion from a point beyond itself, but unlike the Chronophage, in my imaginary sculpture, time is not being clawed back and consumed; it is being poured out liberally and constantly renewed. I have Christened it my Chronodor, my time-giver. It  witnesses to God’s promise, in the book of Joel: ‘I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten.’

In my imaginary sculpture the figure above the golden circles is not a ravenous locust but an angel of God, taking the riches of eternity and pouring them out in a flowing stream moment by moment into the circles of time. Such was the vision of Dante, who saw time and motion as ultimately given and renewed by Divine Love, by what he called, in the last line of his great poem; ‘the Love that moves the sun and the other stars.’

The Corpus Chronophage cost a cool million. My Chronodor is completely free, an image of God’s mysterious liberality reminding me to receive and cherish each new moment as a gift from a loving God

6 Comments

Filed under christianity, imagination, St. Edward's