If you saw the title for this inspiration, I can imagine you might have laughed because of the word, fecundity. Or it is just as easy to imagine, you saw that word and had no idea what it meant. I know if I used that word in a college classroom, I would be lucky if one person had a clue what fecundity meant. Fecundity means fruitful or, indeed, very fruitful. It means there is an abundance of fruit; there is a huge amount of growth. To be fecund is to be fruitful. I suppose in the business world, we would talk about very good results. If we talk about harvest, we would describe the barns as being overflowing.
I ran across this phrase in the opening words of the late monk Thomas Merton’s famous poem, Hagia Sophia. Hagia Sophia is a pair of Greek words which mean “Holy Wisdom.” His poem, penned in 1963, some five years before his untimely death, is a tribute to Wisdom. Sophia (wisdom) is often portrayed as the feminine aspect of God or the divinity. Sophia plays a role in the Christian bible, but clearly not the big role the “Word” plays. For example, in John’s Gospel we read that “the Word became flesh…” (1:14) Jesus becomes associated with the Word, but we can also not that Jesus is also identified with Sophia---with Wisdom.
Personally, I have come to appreciate the fact that Jesus is both Reason and Wisdom. Jesus is both the Mind of God and the Wisdom of God in the flesh. In his poem Merton is focusing on the Wisdom of God. And in this inspirational piece, I would like to follow some of Merton’s thinking, which then aids my own theological and spiritual reflection.
Merton’s poem, which is lengthy, follows the liturgical hours of the monastic day. Hence the poem opens with what Merton calls “The Hour of Lauds.” Lauds is the early morning engagement of the monk with God. At Merton’s monastery in Kentucky, it happens in the middle of the night, says my students who have gone there with me. Think about Lauds as the breaking of a new day. Lauds is the appearance or, better, recognition of Wisdom. This is where Merton begins the poem.
He says, “There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity…” Surely, at daybreak we begin to see the visible things. This is literally true. By the day’s light we no longer need artificial light. We merely open our eyes and see. Seeing is easy in the daylight. But we can also imagine that Merton thinks metaphorically, too. The potential problem with daylight is that we assume we see it all. But daylight may only reveal the surface things. We see the visible things and are unaware of the invisible. We see what we see, but we don’t know what we don’t see! This is the level that Merton wants to point.
His first line is a statement. There is in all visible things and invisible fecundity. This is a fascinating was to say in all things there is a fruitfulness. In fact, the fecundity that is revealed is hardly grasped by those of us who see the visible things. We see the visible things and are yet blind to the fruitfulness in, behind and through all that we see. Let me give an example. In the beauty of the daylight, I can see all the glory of the day. But I may also miss the glory of the God who is behind and responsible for all that is. I give the day glory, but I have no sense of glorifying the God who made it all possible.
Merton continues his first sentence. “There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity, a dimmed light, a meek namelessness, a hidden wholeness.” We now know the little phrase, an invisible fecundity, is simply the first of four aspects of what can be seen in the visible things. I would argue all four are pointers to the God---the Wisdom---who made the world and all that is in it.
In the visible things we see a dimmed light. I do not think it is a reach to understand this dimmed light as the “light and life” that Jesus revealed, which was the God Itself. We also have a sense for the meek namelessness. This is another fascinating way to describe the presence of Wisdom in our midst. There is so much glitter in our world of visible things, we don’t always become aware of the meek namelessness that characterizes the Presence of Wisdom in our midst. Think of the noisy world in which we operate. No wonder it is so unusual to be aware of the meek namelessness who is God.
And finally, in the visibility of things, it is possible---although not usual---that we can become aware of the hidden wholeness. The world that I watch is a world that is often fractured and fractious---irritable and quarrelsome. We are more aware of the parts than the wholeness. We have more sensitivity of disintegration than integration. I hear about the world going to hell. Seldom, if ever, do I hear about the world going to heaven!
Wisdom is not always easy to pick up. It is seen in, behind and through the visible, but it does not always seem directly to be seen. I see the current situation of our world and I tend to grieve, rather than feel graced. Too often, we are creatures of scarcity, rather than abundance. It is difficult to believe in an invisible fecundity.
But when we are dealing with God, we are always in the midst of fecundity, light and wholeness. That is the deal with Wisdom. Look and see.
I ran across this phrase in the opening words of the late monk Thomas Merton’s famous poem, Hagia Sophia. Hagia Sophia is a pair of Greek words which mean “Holy Wisdom.” His poem, penned in 1963, some five years before his untimely death, is a tribute to Wisdom. Sophia (wisdom) is often portrayed as the feminine aspect of God or the divinity. Sophia plays a role in the Christian bible, but clearly not the big role the “Word” plays. For example, in John’s Gospel we read that “the Word became flesh…” (1:14) Jesus becomes associated with the Word, but we can also not that Jesus is also identified with Sophia---with Wisdom.
Personally, I have come to appreciate the fact that Jesus is both Reason and Wisdom. Jesus is both the Mind of God and the Wisdom of God in the flesh. In his poem Merton is focusing on the Wisdom of God. And in this inspirational piece, I would like to follow some of Merton’s thinking, which then aids my own theological and spiritual reflection.
Merton’s poem, which is lengthy, follows the liturgical hours of the monastic day. Hence the poem opens with what Merton calls “The Hour of Lauds.” Lauds is the early morning engagement of the monk with God. At Merton’s monastery in Kentucky, it happens in the middle of the night, says my students who have gone there with me. Think about Lauds as the breaking of a new day. Lauds is the appearance or, better, recognition of Wisdom. This is where Merton begins the poem.
He says, “There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity…” Surely, at daybreak we begin to see the visible things. This is literally true. By the day’s light we no longer need artificial light. We merely open our eyes and see. Seeing is easy in the daylight. But we can also imagine that Merton thinks metaphorically, too. The potential problem with daylight is that we assume we see it all. But daylight may only reveal the surface things. We see the visible things and are unaware of the invisible. We see what we see, but we don’t know what we don’t see! This is the level that Merton wants to point.
His first line is a statement. There is in all visible things and invisible fecundity. This is a fascinating was to say in all things there is a fruitfulness. In fact, the fecundity that is revealed is hardly grasped by those of us who see the visible things. We see the visible things and are yet blind to the fruitfulness in, behind and through all that we see. Let me give an example. In the beauty of the daylight, I can see all the glory of the day. But I may also miss the glory of the God who is behind and responsible for all that is. I give the day glory, but I have no sense of glorifying the God who made it all possible.
Merton continues his first sentence. “There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity, a dimmed light, a meek namelessness, a hidden wholeness.” We now know the little phrase, an invisible fecundity, is simply the first of four aspects of what can be seen in the visible things. I would argue all four are pointers to the God---the Wisdom---who made the world and all that is in it.
In the visible things we see a dimmed light. I do not think it is a reach to understand this dimmed light as the “light and life” that Jesus revealed, which was the God Itself. We also have a sense for the meek namelessness. This is another fascinating way to describe the presence of Wisdom in our midst. There is so much glitter in our world of visible things, we don’t always become aware of the meek namelessness that characterizes the Presence of Wisdom in our midst. Think of the noisy world in which we operate. No wonder it is so unusual to be aware of the meek namelessness who is God.
And finally, in the visibility of things, it is possible---although not usual---that we can become aware of the hidden wholeness. The world that I watch is a world that is often fractured and fractious---irritable and quarrelsome. We are more aware of the parts than the wholeness. We have more sensitivity of disintegration than integration. I hear about the world going to hell. Seldom, if ever, do I hear about the world going to heaven!
Wisdom is not always easy to pick up. It is seen in, behind and through the visible, but it does not always seem directly to be seen. I see the current situation of our world and I tend to grieve, rather than feel graced. Too often, we are creatures of scarcity, rather than abundance. It is difficult to believe in an invisible fecundity.
But when we are dealing with God, we are always in the midst of fecundity, light and wholeness. That is the deal with Wisdom. Look and see.
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