Filling a Life with Light

I recently checked out of the public library three small books that were old and heavily worn, even though they had probably not been used much in recent years.  Even beyond their contents, the books were fascinating, what with their now antiquated card-pockets and check-out cards.  (One of the volumes, a 1905 book even bore on its title page an impress revealing that it once had been in the Colored Carnage Library, now thankfully gone as an emblem of the U.S's officially segregated past.)  All three books, published between 1905 and 1927, were collections of poems by a man who loved God and loved Nature.

His name was Henry van Dyke (1852-1933).  Even though his poetry broke away from a heavier style (such as that of Longfellow) by using more variation in the lengths of lines, Van Dyke's poetry is of a rhymed style that is no longer popular.  And yet, there are things to commend about his work and life.  His prose narrative "The Story of the Other Wise Man" has been given some modern adaptations.

His 1907 hymn "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee" has also endured, being still in some current hymnals.  I think one reason, besides its exuberant alliterations and vivid imagery, is that its content transcends many theological differences.  I would even suggest that much of its content can transcend boundaries of faith-traditions in its awe-filled spiritual experience in Nature. Such as:  "Field and forest, vale and mountain, Flowery meadow, flashing sea, / Chanting bird and flowing fountain, Call us to rejoice in Thee."

I think my Benét's Reader's Encyclopedia of American Literature identified the style of living that lay behind the potential universality of those hymn lyrics.  That reference book explains that Van Dyke engaged in a "lifelong attempt to fuse religion and practical, everyday living in a keen personal enjoyment of life."  Given his profession as a religious leader, things could have turned out otherwise.  But something guided him away from parochialism even as a minister at Brick Presbyterian Church in New York.

I find a wideness of spirit even in his early poems.  Scanning the tables of contents in those three old library books, there is one poem in all three books whose title stands out for its expressiveness:  "God of the Open Air."  In that multi-page 1904 poem, Van Dyke conveys his heartfelt religious devotion.  But I think he does so in a way that can transcend religious divisions -- particularly because he conveys his devotion to a God that is found beyond the walls of any sanctuary, synagogue, temple, or mosque:  "To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer, / God of the open air."  In the poem's closing lines, Van Dyke echoes the famous appeal of Goethe on his deathbed for "Mehr licht!" ("More light!").  Van Dyke proclaims that upon dying:

"Let me not creep

Into some darkened room and hide

From all that makes the world so bright and dear;

But throw the windows wide

To welcome in the light."

~~~

Is there a way that Nature adds an exuberance to your life?  When and how?

(The hymn lyrics are taken from The Presbyterian Hymnal, © 1990. #464.)

(The description of Van Dyke's religious aim is from

Benét's Reader's Encyclopedia of American Literature, © 1991.  p. 1084.)

(Van Dyke's full poem can be read at this external link:  "God of the Open Air")

An Ill Wind and My Spirit

It was a late summer.  There were more clouds than typical for a summer day, but that felt good because it gave relief from the hot summer sun.  What felt even better was a breeze that brushed across my face, bringing the promise of a respite from the summer heat we had endured for weeks.  "Maybe we'll get a cooling rain," I thought.  My slight elation at the change in weather was, however, kept in bounds by a larger awareness.  Namely, I knew that the pleasant shift in weather I was experiencing was the result of a distant hurricane that was coming ashore farther away, bringing destruction upon other people.

The soothing breeze that brushed my face thus raises the question of how I should think and feel about those things in Nature that bring both good and bad.  That tiny breeze raises spiritual and theological questions far beyond its small size.  To my way of thinking, the most distasteful responses to a hurricane during the past few years have been by people who claimed that God steered the hurricane away from them in response to their prayers.  Those people were thinking only of themselves, and seem to have had little concern about the other people who would be hurt by a re-directed hurricane.  Nor do such comments display an awareness of a long tradition of theological thought about the matter.

A less selfish response does not require more scientific understanding of storms.  It only requires a "compassionate heart," to use a Buddhist phrase.  A wiser and more  open-hearted response to tragedy was modeled by Jesus after a tower fell, killing people.  Even without a knowledge of Newtonian physics, Jesus knew that natural disasters do not injure just bad people, and that they do not spare just good people.  Challenging his listeners to join him in that enlightened response, he asked rhetorically,  "Those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them -- do you think that they were worse offenders...?  No, I tell you." (Luke 13:4-5, NRSV).  Jesus's reminder to us that "bad things can happen to good people," as we say today, echoes that same insight form the Jewish tradition's book of Job in the Bible. Job's suffering from natural forces was not a punishment.

Although in English we have separate words for "wind" and "spirit," in the Bible's original languages, the two are the same word.  We might think "wind-spirit." That equivalence can remind me when that light wind touches my face, to ask myself what my own spirit is like, especially when I know of the dangerous hurricane further away.

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There is another side of the coin to this matter of the uncertainties of the natural world -- the fact that natural forces can bring both damaging winds and needed rain.  I easily notice when bad luck befalls me.  In contrast, I easily overlook all the ways I have been helped by good things that were just as much beyond my control. The light wind that brushes my face can, therefore, widen my awareness even further.  The double meaning of wind-spirit can remind me to remember a larger spirit of unseen forces that support my life.  A native American Ojibwe song put it this way:

"Sometimes I go about pitying myself,

But all the while

I am being carried by great winds across the sky."

~~~

Is there a way you have come to think about the uncontrollable uncertainties of life?