Christian Art | George Herbert | Sepulchre | The Church | Church-Lock And Key
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Church-Lock And Key
I know it is my sinne, which locks thine eares,
And bindes thy hands,
Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears;
Or else the chilnesse of my faint demands.
But as cold hands are angrie with the fire,
And mend it still;
So I do lay the want of my desire,
Not on my sinnes, or coldnesse, but thy will.
Yet heare, O God, onely for his blouds sake
Which pleads for me:
For though sinnes plead too, yet like stones they make,
His blouds sweet current much more loud to be
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Church-Lock And Key
The poem reflects George Herbert’s preoccupation with the nature of sin, divine grace, and human helplessness in the face of God’s justice and mercy. The poem is a layered meditation on spiritual struggle to reconcile personal sinfulness with the hope of redemption.
Sin As Obstruction And Distance
The opening lines establish Herbert’s awareness of sin as a barrier to divine communication:
I know it is my sin, which locks thine ears,
And binds thy hands,
Sin is depicted as an active force, personified as a captor that ‘locks’ and ‘binds’, inhibiting God’s ability to respond to prayer and act on behalf of us. This theological motif aligns with Isaiah 59:2: ‘But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you.’ Here, sin is not only a moral failing but a metaphysical condition that disrupts the relationship between humanity and God. Herbert recognizes this obstruction and attributes it to his own moral state.
Yet the poem also conveys an acute self-awareness that transcends mere confession. In recognizing that his prayers are faint and insufficient, Herbert criticizes the ‘chilness’ of his demands, suggesting that his spiritual inadequacy compounds his sinfulness. The metaphor of ‘cold hands’ conveys not only physical numbness but a deeper spiritual lethargy, reinforcing the human inability to generate fervour or passion without divine intervention.
Submission To Divine Will
The second stanza introduces a shift in perspective:
So I do lay the want of my desire,
Not on my sins, or coldness, but thy will.
Here, Herbert redirects the locus of accountability from his own failings to God’s sovereign will. This pivot reflects a theological paradox central to Herbert’s worldview: while human sin is the immediate cause of separation from God, ultimate control lies with the divine. The acknowledgment of God’s will as the arbiter of grace could be said to echo a Calvinist sensibility, wherein human effort is subordinate to God’s sovereign election.
This resignation is not a passive despair but an active trust in divine wisdom. Herbert’s acceptance of God’s will recalls Christ’s prayer in Gethsemane: ‘Not my will, but yours be done’ (Luke 22:42). The verse suggests a humility that seeks alignment with God’s purposes, even when they are inscrutable. This surrender, however, is tinged with an implicit plea for God’s mercy to overcome Herbert’s insufficiencies.
Metaphorical Interplay: Cold Hands And Fire
The metaphor explores dynamics of human longing and divine grace:
But as cold hands are angry with the fire,
And mend it still;
This image of cold hands, which simultaneously resist and seek the fire, encapsulates the paradoxical human condition. Herbert’s spiritual coldness, a metaphor for apathy and sin, paradoxically drives his desire for divine warmth. This duality reflects a tension between estrangement from God and innate human yearning for reconciliation. The fire symbolizes God’s grace, which not only provides warmth but also purifies and refines.
The metaphor critiques Herbert’s tendency to externalize blame for his spiritual state. While he initially attributes his lack of fervour to God’s will, the metaphor of cold hands implicitly calls for self-correction and engagement with the divine fire. Thus, the stanza bridges human agency and divine sovereignty, illustrating reciprocal nature of the spiritual journey.
Christ’s Blood As Intercessor
The final stanza introduces the mediatory role of Christ’s sacrifice:
Yet hear, O God, only for his blood’s sake
Which pleads for me.
The appeal shifts theological focus from human inadequacy to divine provision. This image of Christ’s blood ‘pleading’ evokes a biblical concept of intercession, wherein Christ acts as the mediator between humanity and God. This is grounded in Hebrews 12:24, which speaks of ‘the blood of Jesus that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel’. Unlike the blood of Abel, which cried out for justice, Christ’s blood advocates for mercy and reconciliation.
The metaphor of pleading blood is striking. It personifies Christ’s sacrifice as an active, vocal force that drowns out accusations of sin. Juxtaposition of ‘sins plead too’ and ‘his blood’s sweet current’ underscores competing voices in Herbert’s spiritual narrative: one condemns, while the other redeems. By describing Christ’s blood as a ‘current’, Herbert emphasizes its dynamic, life-giving power, in contrast to the inert and lifeless nature of sin.
Soundscape And Sensory Imagery
The poem’s acoustic imagery amplifies thematic depth. The opening lines depict sin as ‘out-crying’ Herbert’s requests, creating a soundscape of competing voices. This cacophony reflects internal conflict between guilt and hope. The final stanza resolves this discord through the ‘sweet current’ of Christ’s blood, which metaphorically overwhelms clamour of sin.
This shift from noise to harmony mirrors Herbert’s spiritual journey from estrangement to trust in divine grace. It also highlights Herbert’s poetic craftsmanship, as he uses sound to evoke the experiential dimensions of prayer and divine encounter.
Psychological Dimensions: Guilt And Hope
The poem captures a psychological complexity of the Christian experience. Herbert oscillates between self-reproach and trust in God’s mercy, embodying the tension between despair and hope. This emotional dynamism is central to the poem’s devotional power, as it resonates with the reader’s own spiritual struggles.
Herbert’s use of paradox (e.g., coldness driving desire, sins pleading against Christ’s blood) reflects ambivalence of faith, where doubt and trust coexist. This nuanced portrayal of the inner life elevates the poem from a simple confession to a profound exploration of the human condition.
An Invitation To Reflection
The poem invites readers to reflect on their own spiritual condition. It challenges them to confront the barriers of sin and apathy while offering the hope of reconciliation through Christ.
By presenting sin as both an obstacle and a motivator, the poem captures the paradoxical nature of the Christian journey. Its ultimate reliance on Christ’s blood underscores the centrality of grace in Herbert’s theology, reminding readers that redemption lies not in human effort but in divine provision. In this way, the poem becomes not just a confession but a testament to the transformative power of faith.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prays and struggles desperately with the weight of his coming Crucifixion. He sweats blood – he is in agony. Jesus enters into his Passion fully cognizant of the horror of it [ … ]
Sometimes, when I read my Bible, I pause in the reading and say to myself: ‘This bit’s real.’ It would be fair to say, I have issues with Mary, because, contrary to what we are taught to say, Mary isn’t my mother. Rather: Mum is. One bit of the Bible-text says this: And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for people were saying, “He is beside himself.” … And his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting about him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, asking for you.” And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around on those who sat about him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Mark 3: 21; 31-35.) Here she comes. She is in considerable distress. I can imagine that. I can relate to that. To save her boy from whatever he’s got himself into this time. And you’re not telling me there isn’t something inside that. Her boy is beside himself. Radical. Radicalized. Radicalizing. A misunderstood word. /ˈradɪk(ə)l/ adjective & noun. 1 Forming the root, basis, or foundation; original, primary. 2a Inherent in the nature of a thing or person; fundamental. b Of action, change, an idea: going to the root or origin; far-reaching, thorough. c Advocating thorough or far-reaching change. d Characterized by departure from tradition; progressive; unorthodox. ‘He has a demon! And he is mad!’ – thus ‘the Jews’. (e.g. John 10: 20.) Come home! It’s all she wants. His family want him back now. But it is an exclusive cult: there is an inside and there is an outside; and on the outside, they are not meant to understand, lest they be converted. He has defined himself as different from anything she was. Only at the end does Jesus say to his Mum – and with savage, bitter irony: ‘Woman, behold your son.’ And then he dies. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. We ask that we might find Mary in our hearts as a Yes! place for Jesus. It is also recommended that we pray to Jesus that we may be further in oneness with Mary. It is self-emptying, such that we only exist insofar as we are responsive to God’s Word. * Last term, and put-out to pasture, the old Archbishop Emeritus came over to stay for a few days and did the odd class with us. He spoke of Yes! as the meaning of Mary’s virginity. And we were not very nice about him. One or two took umbrage. One or two got the hump. In a sense, his Grace, the Arch, basically wanted to move anyone he’d ever known from a high-place – a mountain – received theological ‘truth’ – to an imminent, human plane. Earthing the spiritual. Recalibrating metrics of life’s believability toward a spiritual sense of things. He might have asked the impermissible question: what happened? His Grace described it. God’s love as a cloud. This descended upon Mary – and subsumed her. Within the cloud, Mary capitulated utterly. She became only and purely a response to God’s love. As he spoke, the Arch cradled her. He carried her in his lap – in his hands. His Grace was a consecrated bishop. He was faith. He sat squat, a rounded man, hands cupped and ankles crossed, fingers interlocked, with parted thighs. Rumpled, washed, speckled. A lifetime’s skin… There could be no doubt His Grace spoke through long-term personal relationship with Mary. It was Julian went for him: ‘So are you saying Mary was a Virgin? Or are you not saying Mary was a Virgin?’ Nasty. No, it wasn’t pretty. Julian twisting his silver ring. For a moment, what Julian had said to the Arch simply failed to communicate. No, for a moment, that dumped on the air meant nothing. Then His Grace said: ‘There is a range of possible meanings we may understand in the question of Mary’s virginity. For example, there are understandings of the word virginity entailed in the action of giving birth.’ Julian said: ‘Duh! So had she had sex or hadn’t she?’ Trigger words. No, it wasn’t pretty. On that went for a little while. At length, Julian’s point seemed reluctantly conceded. Then the Arch told us a new story, an additionally human event, the more to baffle us. Controversially, he told us that Mary could not have been Joseph’s first wife, for this would not have been the way of things in the society of that time. His belief was that Joseph must have taken Mary into his household through pity. That would be normal, he said, for Joseph to bring a young, vulnerable girl, who is about to have a baby, within his protection, not meaning to enjoy with her marital relations, but through kindness. ‘And this story of the inn and stable,’ the Archbishop said, ‘it can’t have been like that really. Joseph has travelled with Mary to stay with his family, at home in Bethlehem, and they don’t want Mary in their house, for reasons which I am sure we can understand. It must have been there was considerable resistance to Mary. But Mary gives birth, and who can resist a baby? That’s what happened. It must have been. ‘I’m convinced that must have been how it happened really.’ Later that term, toward the beginning of Advent, we met boys who had been here before, in Valladolid, and now were in regular seminary. They had heard and recited verbatim all the Archbishop had said to them. Their spot-on impressions of each of the fathers were scathing. […]
We might imagine our gazing upon a breath-taking sunrise or a star-filled night sky. The opening lines of this psalm capture that moment, reminding us that the heavens declare the glory of God. The celestial display becomes a testament to divine craftsmanship, whispering its wisdom to all who observe it [ … ]
