Christian Art | George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Affliction (1)
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Affliction (1)
When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
I thought the service brave:
So many joyes I writ down for my part,
Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of naturall delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.
I looked on thy furniture so fine,
And made it fine to me:
Thy glorious houshold-stuffe did me entwine,
And ’tice me unto thee.
Such starres I counted mine: both heav’n and earth
Payd me my wages in a world of mirth.
What pleasures could I want, whose King I served?
Where joyes my fellows were.
Thus argu’d into hopes, my thoughts reserved
No place for grief or fear.
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,
And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face.
At first thou gav’st me milk and sweetnesses;
I had my wish and way:
My dayes were straw’d with flow’rs and happinesse;
There was no moneth but May.
But with my yeares sorrow did twist and grow,
And made a partie unawares for wo.
My flesh began unto my soul in pain,
Sicknesses cleave my bones;
Consuming agues dwell in ev’ry vein,
And tune my breath to grones.
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved,
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.
When I got health, thou took’st away my life,
And more; for my friends die:
My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife
Was of more use then I.
Thus thinne and lean without a fence or friend,
I was blown through with ev’ry storm and winde.
Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
The way that takes the town;
Thou didst betray me to a lingring book,
And wrap me in a gown.
I was entangled in the world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.
Yet, for I threatned oft the siege to raise,
Not simpring all mine age,
Thou often didst with Academick praise
Melt and dissolve my rage.
I took thy sweetned pill, till I came neare;
I could not go away, nor persevere.
Yet left perchance I should too happie be
In my unhappinesse,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me
Into more sicknesses.
Thus doth thy power crosse-bias me, not making
Thine own gift good, yet me from my wayes taking.
Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
None of my books will show:
I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree;
For sure then I should grow
To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust
Her houshold to me, and I should be just.
Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;
In weaknesse must be stout.
Well, I will change the service, and go seek
Some other master out.
Ah my deare God! though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Affliction (1)
The poem explores the spiritual journey of the poet, George Herbert, reflecting Herbert’s initial enthusiasm for the religious life and his later struggles with faith, disappointment, and suffering. The poem opens by recalling the poet’s early attraction to divine service, which he finds ‘brave’ and full of joy. He describes an idealized experience of religious devotion, where he expected to receive numerous blessings, both from his natural pleasures and the added benefits of God’s grace. At this stage, the poet sees everything in a positive light, imagining that both heaven and earth will provide him with endless happiness.
However, as the poem progresses, the poet’s experiences become more complex and challenging. He begins to feel the burdens of life, which intertwine with sorrow, leading to an awareness that the carefree joy he anticipated is not sustainable. The poet notes how his body and soul are affected by illness, weakness, and grief, and he expresses a profound sense of disillusionment. Herbert’s physical ailments, along with the loss of loved ones and his own spiritual struggles, serve as reminders of his frailty and the impermanence of human existence. This suffering contrasts sharply with the joy he initially envisioned, causing him to question his early assumptions about the nature of divine service.
As the poem unfolds, the poet reflects on the tension between his worldly ambitions and his spiritual calling. He describes his entanglement with academic life and intellectual pursuits, which seem to distract him from religious devotion. Despite his frustrations, the poet is drawn back to God, though this pull is not without its difficulties. Herbert recognizes that his faith does not provide easy answers or solutions to his suffering. Instead, he experiences moments of spiritual stagnation, caught between desire for divine comfort and the reality of continued hardship.
The poet then expresses a desire for peace and simplicity, using the metaphor of wishing to be a tree, which would allow him to grow naturally and provide shelter and nourishment for others. This image conveys his longing for a stable, purposeful existence, free from the inner turmoil that plagues him. Yet, he acknowledges that this wish may remain unfulfilled, as his relationship with God involves ongoing trials and uncertainties.
In the concluding lines, the poet considers the possibility of seeking another ‘master’ or alternative path in life, but ultimately returns to God. Despite feeling forgotten and troubled, he asserts that his love for God persists, even if his circumstances do not improve. This final turn reflects the poet’s deep commitment to his faith, recognizing that his relationship with God is central to his identity, regardless of suffering he endures.
Throughout the poem, Herbert engages with themes of spiritual struggle, suffering, and perseverance. He explores the complexities of faith, acknowledging both its joys and its challenges. The poem’s structure follows the arc of this personal journey, from early enthusiasm to disillusionment, and finally to a humble acceptance of ongoing trials.
George Herbert | A Brief Biography
George Herbert (1593–1633) was a Welsh-born poet, orator, and Anglican priest, known for his deeply religious poetry and commitment to the Christian faith. Educated at Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, Herbert excelled academically and was appointed a public orator at the University of Cambridge. Initially considering a career at court, he later chose the priesthood, influenced by his religious convictions.
In 1630, Herbert became rector of the small parish of Bemerton, near Salisbury. There, he served faithfully, focusing on pastoral duties and personal devotion. His brief life as a clergyman was marked by humility and service, though his health deteriorated quickly.
The collection of poems The Temple was published posthumously. On his deathbed, Herbert entrusted the manuscript to his friend Nicholas Ferrar, instructing him to either publish it or burn it, depending on whether Ferrar thought it would help others in their spiritual journey.
‘Death,’ says His Grace, ‘throws it all apart. For we are not as we should be. Faith requires our adjustment to God’s truth. God’s triumph in a very real sense requires in us the loss of our everything. Which, as with Mary at the other end of Jesus’s life, is God’s truth.’ The Gospel reading is of John 11: 1-45, which is a long passage, and His Grace’s homiletic theme commences in textual wilderness. Our brokenness – in this place – a family home. Our faith, our doubt, our death… The irruption – death, doubt, fear – within our precious scenes and our most intimate places. Our domesticity. His Grace speaks from the chair, as is a bishop’s prerogative, and says: ‘So much is obscure in the Gospels. We’re always reaching through them. We’re never there. Really, we never are. Our knowledge, our understanding, of the Gospels is never complete, and with each reading comes a new revelation. There are always new riches there. Just as there are between all of us, between myself and you. The Gospels are living texts. This is a part of the conversation we have with our own Christianity. It is a part of who we are in our relationship with Jesus. We are in this sense always on the brink. ‘So yes, there is plenty that doesn’t seem to make sense. As one of the order of bishops, we would be lying if we said that weren’t the case. They are not easy texts to encounter, if by that word we may signify something more than a superficial glancing off against, but rather a profound search for the word of God. The Gospels are written by people who had their own ideas, and often didn’t know what had really happened. Luke is quite explicit on this point. His is an investigation, from the explicitly claimed point of view of an historian, rather than that of a first-hand witness, who attempts, so he says, to set out an orderly account, out of the chaos, the sheer muddle, that has been handed down to him. It is possible to imagine Luke researching and composing his account after many years, when there has arisen a desire to know what exactly happened, and this implies a certain call to faith and certain demands of historicity, to historical exactitude. So in these different ways, the people of the first years of Christian faith are in the dark. There is also a decisive need to define the life of Jesus. And people didn’t get Jesus. The whole meaning of Christianity is only now beginning to take root throughout the composition. So much needs to be evangelized. The light shines almost in tentative fashion like that first star, which drew the wise men from the east to our Lord’s cradle. ‘John’s is widely held to be a very late Gospel. There are others who say that John’s Gospel might have been the first to acquire its true shape, because it most fully expresses Jesus, as we know him to be, as members of the Catholic Church. We don’t really know when any of this is being written, but we get a feel in John of a Gospel refined over many years, through a community. So there’s a lot going on there that I’d like you to think about. ‘What I would like to suggest to you is that, while within the Gospels we are often confronted with clues, guesswork, stories that have been handed down through so many people, and so in this sense we might find ourselves to be in the wilderness, this is the very desolate space itself to which we must give ourselves in order to experience Christ’s full redemption in our lives. I suggest it is for God’s glory that we do so. ‘As we become aware of ourselves, in this seminary, we find ourselves in a very secure, comfortable setting, and there are signs of Easter everywhere. Within the very fabric of these buildings, our Lord is risen; our Lord lives. But now this is our Lenten journey, where death enters, where death breaks us. We are to ride into Jerusalem in triumph, and then we are to be utterly broken, all hope gone, our hope extinguished. And really, I suggest to you, it is only by inhabiting this thought, as if we don’t know Easter is there, that our new life can follow, just when we have given up all hope, when every promise that Jesus made to us seems to have been cancelled. ‘And here now we have the story of Lazarus. I should like to suggest to you that we have a very powerful call now. In our very comfortable space, our domesticity, with all this comfort, where so very little might seem to happen each day, so it might seem to you, there is a disturbance within all of this comfort, and that is a disturbance within ourselves, and that is our call to Jesus. I think it is correct to say that our most comfortable places break in the light of Jesus from the inside, in order that we may take the necessary steps to be with Jesus. ‘Faith is not comfortable. I think that we can all receive the message of the rolling away of the rock from the tomb of Lazarus to say something of vital importance to ourselves concerning our openness to God’s love. The rock we roll away can come in all sorts of guises, but we know when we are blocked, and I firmly believe if we are truthful then we know where those blocks might be. ‘Next Sunday, which will be Palm Sunday, we process as it were to Jerusalem, to begin our Holy Week. Now as I speak to you we are on the brink. Even now, I suggest it might be very good for all of us to lay aside what we think we know, to fall apart a little, and so […]
Psalm 28 is a heartfelt cry to the Lord God. The psalm is a plea for divine intervention, and a declaration of unwavering trust in God’s strength and protection. The psalm resonates with themes of supplication, of contrast between the righteous and the wicked, and acknowledgment of God as the ultimate source of strength and salvation [ … ]
Jesus continues to preach the Sermon on the Mount with a further lesson in love and humility. Once more, Jesus teaches us about our proper relationships with God and with other people. This is a lesson against conceit and anger. It is a call to peace, such as can heal the divisions between people [ … ]
