Month: November 2022

“And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying, Blessed are … ye”

It is, as Shakespeare suggests, “that time of year … when yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang upon those boughs which shake against the cold, bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.” His sonnet (# 73) always reminds me of November and of All Saints. In the barren greyness of the dying of nature’s year, there is a gathering into the fullness of life. We are ultimately to “love that well which thou must leave ere long” but more importantly, perhaps, to have a greater hold of what “makes thy love more strong.” And what is that? Simply the Communion of Saints: our lives as embraced in God’s holy love. It is about our wholeness, our holiness, as found in God.

A vision of our redeemed humanity, All Saints speaks to the world of scattered souls and celebrates instead the gathering into wholeness and blessedness of our fractured and fragmented selves. It speaks to the wholeness of ourselves as found in communion with God and with one another. It is in that sense profoundly counter-culture, a counter precisely to our fractured and fragmented selves in our fractured and fragmented world, the “Unreal City” of T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, written one hundred years ago.

Our churches, it seems, are “bare ruin’d choirs” but this is to forget the grace of God who alone makes something out of the empty nothingness of human souls which is the cause of our “bare ruin’d choirs”. Shakespeare, perhaps, had in mind the dissolution of the monasteries in the sixteenth century in England and the accompanying sense of a loss of devotion and love. Yet the imagery of the passing away of nature’s year as an analogy to human mortality actually serves to awaken us to that which abides; in short, to the redemption of our humanity and to its abiding in the love of God.

All Saints offers a profound critique to our fragmented world and to our fragmented selves caught in the vortices of the subjective and radically limited categories of indeterminacy about personal identity. We live in a world in which we have turned ourselves into objects. George Bernanos observed that “between those who think that civilization is a victory of man in the struggle against the determinism of things and those who want to make of man a thing among things, there is no possible scheme of reconciliation.” And then, there is Wendell Berry’s remark that “it is easy for me to imagine that the next great division of the world will be between people who wish to live as creatures and people who wish to live as machines.” To be a machine is to be a thing, where even our bodies have become objects, things, to ourselves, as the French philosopher, Michel Henry noted, things that we can manipulate and destroy as we see fit according to the technological means at our whim and fancy.

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