Spiritually Seeking

Bella commented yesterday that words and poetry may help one through times of change, readjustment and grief. I think she's right. I've written before how one particular book helped me through the week following my mother's death. That book was A Year Of Grace: Passages Chosen And Arranged To Express A Mood About God And Man - compiled by Victor Gollancz (yes, that's the Victor Gollancz, the famous publisher) and published by Penguin Books in 1955, the year after I was born. It's a 550 page treasure house of spiritual and philosophical quotations. I turned to it again this morning.

Right at the book's beginning is The Sermon On The Mount from St Matthew's Gospel. Though I haven't read this for ages, it's astonishing how familiar it is. We must hear snatches from it all the time; it's part of our culture, part of the framework of our minds.

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for their's is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peace-makers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for their's is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.

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Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin;

And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

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Judge not, that ye be not judged.

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First cast the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast the mote out of thy brother's eye.

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Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.

Ask, and it shall be given; seek, and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you.

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Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

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Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

Just a word about my own religious beliefs. When I was young Methodism was forced onto me so much that I turned against it and against all other forms of organized, evangelical religion. But I can't help still being very interested in and often inexplicably moved by different belief systems and manifestations of the religious impulse - whether it be Catholicism on the Spanish Camino or the teachings of the Buddha or the multiform deities of Hinduism or pre-Christian paganism or the mystical individualism of the early Christian saints. I suppose you could call me both an agnostic and a spiritual seeker.

A Year Of Grace

My mother died on 3 November 2004 after suffering from progressive Alzheimer's disease for 5 years. The next day I found on her bookshelves an anthology of spiritual poetry and prose chosen by Victor Gollancz and called A Year Of Grace: Passages Chosen And Arranged To Express A Mood About God And Man. It was first published in 1950. It helped see me through that 1st week after her death.

The book contains quotations from a diverse range of writers: William Blake, Meister Eckhart, Sir Thomas Browne, Goethe, Shelley, Spinoza, Gabriel Marcel, Aldous Huxley, William James, Marcus Aurelius, Thomas Traherne, Erasmus, Jakob Boehme, Erich Fromm, Albert Schweitzer, Shelley, Plato and St John Of The Cross to name but a few; and quotations from such great spiritual resources as the Talmud, the Bible and the Bhavagad-Gita.

There are also several poems by Rainer Maria Rilke, one of my favourite poets. If you read about Rilke you realise very quickly that both his life and his intensely felt poetry are inextricably entwined. His Sonnets To Orpheus and Duino Elegies are profound and idiosyncratic works revealing a very personal and mystical relationship with God.

This poem comes from his more accessible collection The Book Of Hours. It shows an unconventionally symbiotic relationship between Rilke and his God. It is as if God needs us more than we need Him. It is as if God is still growing - and he needs us in order to continue to grow.

What will you do, God, when I die?
When I, your picher, broken, lie?
When I, your drink, go stale or dry?
I am your garb, the trade you ply,
you lose your meaning, losing me.

Homeless without me, you will be
robbed of your welcome, warm and sweet.
I am your sandals: your tired feet
will wander bare for want of me.

Your mighty cloak will fall away.
Your glance that on my cheek was laid
and pillowed warm, will seek, dismayed,
the comfort that I offered once -
to lie, as sunset colours fade
in the cold lap of alien stones.

What will you do, God? I am afraid.