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 YouTube: Ash Wednesday | T.S. Eliot | Audio Christian Poetry | Word Aloud Ash Wednesday, one of T.S. Eliot’s most profound and enigmatic poems, marks a significant transition in his life and work. Written in 1930, it is the first long poem Eliot composed after his conversion to Anglicanism in 1927. The poem, often considered one of Eliot’s masterpieces, delves into themes of faith, redemption, and spiritual struggle. It reflects the poet’s personal journey towards spiritual enlightenment and serves as a testament to his newfound religious beliefs. A reading of Ash Wednesday is an exploration of the poem’s religious, literary, and personal contexts, as of the poem’s complex structure and themes. Religious Context And Symbolism Ash Wednesday is deeply embedded in Christian symbolism and tradition. The title refers to the first day of Lent in the Christian liturgical calendar, a day marked by penance, fasting, and prayer. Ash Wednesday is a time for reflection on mortality and repentance, themes that are intricately woven throughout the poem. Eliot’s conversion to Anglicanism profoundly influenced his writing; ‘Ash Wednesday’ is an expression of spiritual awakening and quest for redemption. The poem is replete with religious imagery and references, drawing on Christian doctrine and scripture. The use of liturgical language, biblical allusions, and references to saints and spiritual figures creates a tapestry of faith that invites readers to contemplate deep spiritual truths with which Eliot is grappling. The repetitive and prayer-like quality of the verses echoes meditative practices of the faithful, in part enabling the contemplative nature of the poem. Literary Influences And Techniques T.S. Eliot was a master of literary allusion and technique, and Ash Wednesday expresses Eliot’s ability to blend various influences into a cohesive whole. The poem reflects the influence of Dante, particularly The Divine Comedy, which Eliot admired for its exploration of spiritual ascent and redemption. Dante’s journey through Hell, Purgatory and Heaven parallels Eliot’s own spiritual journey, and the structure of Ash Wednesday can be seen as a reflection of this pilgrimage. Eliot’s use of fragmented narrative, a hallmark of his earlier work such as The Waste Land, is also present in Ash Wednesday. However, in this poem, the fragmentation serves a different purpose. Instead of depicting the disintegration of modern society, it mirrors the fragmented and often painful process of spiritual rebirth. The disjointed structure reflects the internal struggle of the speaker, who is torn between the pull of worldly desires and the aspiration for divine grace. The poem’s language is rich and varied, combining the lyrical and the obscure, the personal and the universal. Eliot employs a range of poetic forms and devices, including free verse, rhyme and meter, to convey the tumultuous journey of faith. The shifting tone and style reflect the complexities and contradictions inherent in the spiritual quest, capturing moments of doubt, despair, hope, and transcendence. Personal Significance Ash Wednesday is a deeply personal work. Eliot’s conversion to Anglicanism marked a profound shift in his life, providing a sense of purpose and direction that had been missing. The poem can be read as a reflection of Eliot’s own struggles with faith and his efforts to reconcile his intellectual skepticism with his desire for spiritual certainty. Eliot’s personal experiences, including his troubled marriage and professional pressures, also inform the poem. Themes of renunciation and acceptance, sin and redemption, are not merely abstract concepts but lived realities for the poet. This personal dimension adds a layer of intimacy and urgency to the poem, which thereby resonates with readers who have faced their own spiritual crises. Thematic Exploration At its core, Ash Wednesday is a meditation on the possibility of spiritual renewal in a world that often seems devoid of meaning. The poem grapples with the tension between faith and doubt, reflecting the existential struggles of modernity. The poem acknowledges the difficulties of maintaining belief in an age of skepticism but ultimately affirms the possibility of redemption and grace. The central theme of renunciation is explored through imagery of ascension and purification. The speaker’s journey is marked by a series of renunciations, symbolizing the shedding of earthly attachments in pursuit of spiritual truth. This process is neither straightforward nor easy; it involves moments of intense struggle and introspection. Yet, through this arduous journey, the speaker moves closer to a state of spiritual clarity and acceptance. Ash Wednesday | T. S. Eliot Because I do not hope to turn again Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope I no longer strive to strive towards such things (Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?) Why should I mourn The vanished power of the usual reign? Because I do not hope to know The infirm glory of the positive hour Because I do not think Because I know I shall not know The one veritable transitory power Because I cannot drink There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessèd face And renounce the voice Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something Upon which to rejoice And pray to God to have mercy upon us And pray that I may forget These matters that with myself I too much discuss Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still. Pray for us sinners now […]

The Carrefour will be open, where I can buy nuts for the red squirrel, who lives in Campo Grande. The red squirrel is Valladolid’s best bit. Even as a child, I had never seen one before, apart from in picture books. It was last term’s discovery. The most beautiful encounter. I didn’t know it was there – in the park. A complete surprise. The tiny little thing bobbled and hopped, as it received in its little hands a nut from the man’s hands. Each surprising instant – it was childlike. I whispered: ‘Oh my wow.’ I walk toward the El Cortes Ingles. There is, for now, that settled feel of friends in bookshops. Though a null-affect, neutral day – it won’t glean, it is not to be scratched at. The queues are long in the Carrefour. Though, as it might be, on relatively modest incomes, many people live centrally. Their behaviours neither pinched nor stark. Yet the shop so busy while the street so empty… An error in the simulation, a glitch in the code. I potter about the aisles, which are pleasant enough, then at the tills I flinch at how expensive a little bag of up-sold nuts can be. Nonetheless, I queue for a packet of almonds. Two English men queue directly ahead of me. They are stocky, and have gay voices, their wheelie-bucket piled with soft drinks and party food, while they bitch to one another about the obviously terrible party they’re going to. The air heaves relief as I wander up the way to the broad plaza fringing Campo Grande. This is a place to see – a piece of Spain. There is a tourist information office, though unopened. At these fountains, three girls take selfies. Pompous-looking buildings, the military offices aside, line the park’s nearest vicinities. Hotel-bars have their patches. Liveried doormen idle time, for there are no paying customers, in and out the doorways’ shadows. A mixed group of kids play at the hoops on the pedestrian boulevard, and two boys practise on skateboards, working the thing out. I pass by them, touched by the thought, and happy that they are there. Wistful, I smile at the odds of the ball spilling over to me, and play in mind the agreeable scene of a fleeting connection. Then I am through the park gates. An air now – of humanity become self-selecting. Modestly understated. Understatedly modest. Campo Grande is nice but it isn’t grande… I walk slowly, and very soon hear for a second time English voices. Not them – it is an English family, just a little way ahead, a Dad and a Mum and a younger boy and an older girl, and theirs are Midlands accents. Dad seems to have been here and to know the place. He gestures panoramically. Mum wants her lunch. The girl at a difficult age. She carries a balloon-on-a-stick. Though she is sprouting – yet wears a loud dress. Then leggings, trainers. Her hair is nice… Maybe she is being okay about it. And not horrific. It’s okay once they get into it, but those months… Yet then, they mostly blossom, if they come from a good home, and become rounded personalities, entering into their womanhood. It was that… when yet they weren’t… I shudder to think of it. They walk toward the pond, and I trail, and would follow had I not been going that way. I wish I could say something so they might hear I am English too. (Fake a phone call?) How my voice might sound – there’d be all college hurling around in such matter I… a demented thing, ludicrous blurt – of Henry, Geoff, and all of them – not to mention the personal predicament. Maybe they’re a nice family. She is letting him explain what he needs to explain. And it would blow his fire, me being English. Mum and Dad. You’d probably see them all having their lunch in a little while. All sat round the table. With napkins and the menus out. Dad looks safe.   I look into the pond. Terrapins live in there. But not today. I walk toward the join in the paths where the squirrel lives. There, I crumple the packet of almonds, making noise. I peer and I squat and crouch – chewing a mouthful. All the peacocks have perched right up in the trees’ branches. That never looks like something they should be doing. It’s disappointing that the squirrel isn’t here – but then the not-knowing-if is a part of it. Now, next, my visit to the National Sculpture Museum is an obligation. Canon Peter stood literally aghast when I hadn’t heard of it. Mortified, I made resolute promises. Though a few weeks have passed, it isn’t just any old something I could do on the hoof. A great commitment – it must command a known and prepared and anticipated not-just-any-old-time. But, rather, the sort you must wait for – and listen for.   [ … ]   Beyond Plaza Mayor, there would be a brief series of old-town alleyways. The National Sculpture Museum would be – just up there, this archway, this next…They are bleached and forgotten-looking walls, and the smoothed paving could be medieval. Not that it is making Tomàs anxious – I follow the map. A kind of place – uneasy credit-cards, and modern vaccinations, and a phone, might not help much. I fancy I feel the back-wall of a church, and that – fancifully – pressure-release drawn out of me. Only I am playing games in a nice way – making play-scared on the uncertainty – with only myself to see. The National Museum is there, modestly signed on stencilled plexiglass stuck to the stone wall. A uniformed lady sits just a little way inside the doorway. She reassures me there is no money required, and directs me over the courtyard into the planned route, showing me where I can pick up a free map. I get my […]

Christian Art | Parousia | Second Coming | Lamb Of God, You Take Away The Sins Of The World Luke 17: 26-37 (Audio Bible KJV, Spoken Word) Early Christian thought about the Parousia – the second coming – was largely influenced by the teachings of Jesus and the writings of Saint Paul. In the early Christian community, expectation of Christ’s return was strong, and many Christians believed that it would happen in their lifetime. This belief is evident in the New Testament, where the authors express a sense of urgency in their writings and encourage their readers to be prepared for Christ’s imminent return. As Christianity spread throughout the Roman Empire, the idea of the Parousia became more complex and nuanced. Theological debates arose around the nature of Christ’s return and the events that would precede it. Some theologians, such as Origen and Augustine, saw the Parousia as a spiritual event that was already happening in the Church. Others, such as the Montanists and the millenarians, believed in a literal, physical return of Christ and the establishment of a new, earthly Kingdom. In the Middle Ages, the Parousia was often associated with apocalypticism and the idea of a final, cataclysmic battle between good and evil – the last battle. The idea of the Antichrist, who would precede Christ’s return, became a popular theme in Christian literature, and the book of Revelation (Apocalypse – meaning to reveal, to uncover) was interpreted as a prophetic guide to the end of the world. Biblical Basis For The Parousia | The Second Coming The concept of the Parousia, or the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, is central to Christian eschatology and is supported by numerous biblical passages in both the Old and New Testaments. In the Old Testament, there are numerous passages that refer to the coming of a Messiah who will restore Israel and bring about the final judgment. For example, in Daniel 7:13-14, it is written: ‘I saw in the night visions, and, behold, one like the Son of man came with the clouds of heaven, and came to the Ancient of days, and they brought him near before him. And there was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all people, nations, and languages, should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed.’ This passage describes a divine figure who comes in the clouds and is given dominion over all nations. In the New Testament, the Parousia is described in greater detail, particularly in the teachings of Jesus and the writings of Saint Paul. Jesus speaks of his return in many passages, including Matthew 24:30-31, where Jesus says: ‘And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven: and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.’ Here, Jesus describes his return in power and glory, accompanied by angels who gather Jesus’ elect from all over the world. In Saint Paul’s letters, the Parousia is also described in detail. In 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17, Saint Paul writes: ‘For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.’ This passage describes a resurrection of the dead and the gathering of believers to meet the Lord Jesus in the air. The language and imagery used to describe the Parousia are often dramatic and apocalyptic in nature. The Parousia is often described as a time of judgment, when the righteous will be separated from the wicked, and God’s justice will be fully revealed. The imagery of clouds, trumpets, and angels is used to depict the power and glory of Christ’s return. Theological Interpretations Of The Parousia | Jesus’ Second Coming The concept of the Parousia has been interpreted in a variety of ways throughout Christian history. Dispensationalism Dispensationalism is a theological framework that emerged in the 19th  Century and has since become popular among some evangelical and fundamentalist Christians. Dispensationalists believe that history is divided into distinct periods or ‘dispensations’, each of which is marked by a particular mode of divine revelation and a specific plan of salvation. According to dispensationalist theology, the Parousia will be preceded by a period of tribulation, during which the Antichrist will establish a one-world government and the Jews will be restored to their homeland. The Parousia itself will involve a physical, visible return of Christ, who will establish a thousand-year reign on earth before the final judgment. Preterism Preterism is a theological interpretation of the Parousia that holds that many of the prophecies in the New Testament, particularly those in the book of Revelation, were fulfilled in the first century AD. According to this view, the Parousia occurred in a spiritual sense when Christ ascended to heaven and sent the Holy Spirit to empower the Church. Preterists argue that the tribulation and other end-time events predicted in the New Testament were fulfilled in the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in AD 70. Postmillennialism Postmillennialism is a theological view that holds that the Parousia will occur after a period of history in which the Church will gradually bring about the kingdom of God on earth. According to this view, the Church will spread the gospel throughout the world, and social, political, and economic conditions will gradually improve. Eventually, Christ will return to a world that has been largely transformed by the Gospel. Amillennialism […]