Recently I led a retreat which was focused on Thomas Merton’s magisterial poem, Hagia Sophia. Hagia Sophia translates “holy wisdom.” The whole poem is a look at the presence and function of Sophia---Wisdom. In doing this Merton is dipping into an old aspect of the Christian tradition that is rooted in the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament). Wisdom is often characterized as the feminine aspect of God.
When we become aware of Merton’s influences, one significant group of scholars he was reading in the 1950’s were Russian Orthodox writers. Orthodoxy, more than Roman Catholicism and Protestants, valued the Wisdom tradition found within Christianity. These Russian Christian scholars often found themselves living in turbulent times in the early 20th century when the Russian revolution brought to power an atheistic government. Many were exiled or forced out of the country. But they have provided a valuable way to view God, the Trinity and, especially, the incarnation.
While there is far too much in Merton’s poem to give attention in one little inspirational piece, I would like to take a look at its beginning and ending. The poem is organized around the canonical hours the monks follow in their monasteries. These hours are the various times throughout the day when the monk (or nun) will gather in the church or chapel for some kind of worship experience. At Gethsemani, where Merton was a monk (1941-1968), the first time to gather is 3:15am. They conclude their day by gathering at 7:30pm for Compline---meaning the completion of the day.
So, imagine his poem beginning by anticipating the early dawn of the day. The first line from the poem sets the context. Merton writes, “There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity, a dimmed light, a meek namelessness, a hidden wholeness.” If one reads this sentence slowly and meditatively, it is easy to see how it is evocative and hopeful. As in every new morning, there is promise. Merton’s line promises meaning. Life is not pointless. Merton is clear in affirmation: there is. Let’s examine what he promises in this early morning.
Merton promises that there is more than meets the eye. In all visible things there is an invisible fecundity. Sometimes all we see is the visible. The visible can be frustrating or disappointing. It is nice to get the promise of an invisible fecundity. I love that word, fecundity. It means fruitfulness, growth and abundance. Through Merton’s words, Wisdom assures us the fecundity is there---whether we see it or not. It is a faith worth holding.
Merton continues with the promise. There is a “dimmed light.” All is not darkness. Light is often associated with knowledge; light dispels ignorance. This is real hope, not mere hype! Along with life, we can know there is a meek namelessness. This may not seem like a big deal, but this meek namelessness is a clue to God who may be appearing in our lives in ways that we might miss. We may be taught to expect God as a strong, thunderous presence, but in reality God may more often come meekly---in the poor, weak and unexpected places and people.
I quite like the last promise of this initial line. Merton assures us there is a “hidden wholeness.” When life seems fragmented and perhaps even disintegrating all around us, it is assuring to know there is finally a wholeness---albeit in the moment hidden. This is a bold promise and hope. Hang in there---all will be well, as the late fourteenth-early fifteenth century Julian of Norwich says.
This was an opening to a poem. Throughout significant development of the Wisdom figure---Sophia---Merton comes to the last line of the poem, which is at sunset---the hour of Compline. Since the poem began with promise, it is fitting the poem ends with assurance, although it is surprising assurance. But Wisdom is God’s presence, but in surprising form. Observe how Merton ends the poem with a description of God. “A homeless God, lost in the night, without papers, without identifications, without even a number, a frail expendable exile lies down in desolation under the sweet stars of the world and entrusts Himself to sleep.” God is homeless and without ability to prove any identity. God is an exile with no place to sleep. But God is not afraid. Trust is the last word.
Trust is really faith. I think Merton wants to assure us in the “night times” of our lives, that faith is real and the key to all that Wisdom promises. Even for all of us who seemingly have everything---home, ID papers, etc.---we continue to live day by day, morning through night knowing that we are vulnerable to the frailties and pitfalls of life in this world. And we live knowing that we will die.
I assured and take comfort in the fact there is a hidden wholeness. In faith I already participate in this wholeness. Every morning I want to celebrate this faith-fact. And I want to head into the night able, like God, to entrust myself to sleep knowing that all will be well.
When we become aware of Merton’s influences, one significant group of scholars he was reading in the 1950’s were Russian Orthodox writers. Orthodoxy, more than Roman Catholicism and Protestants, valued the Wisdom tradition found within Christianity. These Russian Christian scholars often found themselves living in turbulent times in the early 20th century when the Russian revolution brought to power an atheistic government. Many were exiled or forced out of the country. But they have provided a valuable way to view God, the Trinity and, especially, the incarnation.
While there is far too much in Merton’s poem to give attention in one little inspirational piece, I would like to take a look at its beginning and ending. The poem is organized around the canonical hours the monks follow in their monasteries. These hours are the various times throughout the day when the monk (or nun) will gather in the church or chapel for some kind of worship experience. At Gethsemani, where Merton was a monk (1941-1968), the first time to gather is 3:15am. They conclude their day by gathering at 7:30pm for Compline---meaning the completion of the day.
So, imagine his poem beginning by anticipating the early dawn of the day. The first line from the poem sets the context. Merton writes, “There is in all visible things an invisible fecundity, a dimmed light, a meek namelessness, a hidden wholeness.” If one reads this sentence slowly and meditatively, it is easy to see how it is evocative and hopeful. As in every new morning, there is promise. Merton’s line promises meaning. Life is not pointless. Merton is clear in affirmation: there is. Let’s examine what he promises in this early morning.
Merton promises that there is more than meets the eye. In all visible things there is an invisible fecundity. Sometimes all we see is the visible. The visible can be frustrating or disappointing. It is nice to get the promise of an invisible fecundity. I love that word, fecundity. It means fruitfulness, growth and abundance. Through Merton’s words, Wisdom assures us the fecundity is there---whether we see it or not. It is a faith worth holding.
Merton continues with the promise. There is a “dimmed light.” All is not darkness. Light is often associated with knowledge; light dispels ignorance. This is real hope, not mere hype! Along with life, we can know there is a meek namelessness. This may not seem like a big deal, but this meek namelessness is a clue to God who may be appearing in our lives in ways that we might miss. We may be taught to expect God as a strong, thunderous presence, but in reality God may more often come meekly---in the poor, weak and unexpected places and people.
I quite like the last promise of this initial line. Merton assures us there is a “hidden wholeness.” When life seems fragmented and perhaps even disintegrating all around us, it is assuring to know there is finally a wholeness---albeit in the moment hidden. This is a bold promise and hope. Hang in there---all will be well, as the late fourteenth-early fifteenth century Julian of Norwich says.
This was an opening to a poem. Throughout significant development of the Wisdom figure---Sophia---Merton comes to the last line of the poem, which is at sunset---the hour of Compline. Since the poem began with promise, it is fitting the poem ends with assurance, although it is surprising assurance. But Wisdom is God’s presence, but in surprising form. Observe how Merton ends the poem with a description of God. “A homeless God, lost in the night, without papers, without identifications, without even a number, a frail expendable exile lies down in desolation under the sweet stars of the world and entrusts Himself to sleep.” God is homeless and without ability to prove any identity. God is an exile with no place to sleep. But God is not afraid. Trust is the last word.
Trust is really faith. I think Merton wants to assure us in the “night times” of our lives, that faith is real and the key to all that Wisdom promises. Even for all of us who seemingly have everything---home, ID papers, etc.---we continue to live day by day, morning through night knowing that we are vulnerable to the frailties and pitfalls of life in this world. And we live knowing that we will die.
I assured and take comfort in the fact there is a hidden wholeness. In faith I already participate in this wholeness. Every morning I want to celebrate this faith-fact. And I want to head into the night able, like God, to entrust myself to sleep knowing that all will be well.
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