Tuesday, 6 December 2022

The Spiritual Canticle of St John of the Cross INTRODUCTION

 

 


The Spiritual Canticle of St John of the Cross

Introduction

Carmelite Conversations

Philip Harvey

Wednesday the 7th of December 2022

 Recently I have been reading the emails between Sister Wendy Beckett and Robert Ellsberg, letters in email written between 2015 and her death in 2018. Amongst the many wise things said in this correspondence, Sister Wendy says that God wishes to have a conversation with us, but the conversation won’t happen if we don’t do something about it. In other words, prayer is available at any time, it is up to us to take up the conversation, as God is ready to engage. I find that St John of the Cross has the same attitude to prayer. Whoever we are and wherever we find ourselves, the simple act of making ourselves available to God through prayer is the start, whatever our present prayer life happens to be.

 Elsewhere, Sister Wendy gets tetchy about manuals of prayer. She questions the usefulness of books about how to pray, as though prayer were a set of exercises. Putting aside the fact that we all have to talk about prayer who are in the business of praying, talk that may extend to putting the words in a book, Sister Wendy is getting at the fact that in prayer life we find our own way, that the main impetus is being called to prayer, of simply living a prayerful existence, in a place where how-to books become fairly superfluous. The writings of St John of the Cross are not how-to books. However, they are all about prayer, what is happening, and how we might better understand it. Like his companion Teresa of Avila, he also shows that prayer life happens in real life and is real life. That everything about prayer is going on through change.

  “Where there is no love, put love, and you will find love.”

 These words of St John of the Cross (1542-1591) serve as one way of learning about this poet and saint. They put us at ease, speak to whatever reality we find ourselves in at the time, and can be used to inspire us as we delve into the poetry. Although his writing can be unusual, multilayered, and difficult at times, our persistence is rewarded as we discover that he is in the business of putting love into the world in order that we will find love.

 Composed in a monastic prison and copied out later from memory, ‘The Spiritual Canticle’ of St John of the Cross is a long poem that was never published in his lifetime. Intrinsic to the poem is his commentary, which is an in-depth description of the spiritual life in different stages, written with remarkable and subtle insight into human consciousness and behaviour. The more we read into the commentary, the greater our appreciation of the images and language of the Canticle itself, the poem serving at one level as shorthand for the longer exposition and as a memory game for things said in the commentary.

 Context is important, so I quote Benedict Zimmerman OCD in his introduction to David Lewis’s 19th century translation. “The Canticle was composed during the long imprisonment St. John underwent at Toledo from the beginning of December 1577 till the middle of August of the following year. Being one of the principal supporters of the Reform of St. Teresa, he was also one of the victims of the war waged against her work by the Superiors of the old branch of the Order. St. John’s prison was a narrow, stifling cell, with no window, but only a small loophole through which a ray of light entered for a short time of the day, just long enough to enable him to say his office, but affording little facility for reading or writing. However, St. John stood in no need of books. Having for many years meditated on every word of Holy Scripture, the Word of God was deeply written in his heart, supplying abundant food for conversation with God during the whole period of his imprisonment. From time to time he poured forth his soul in poetry; afterwards he communicated his verses to friends.” (Lewis xii)

 This morning I will identify main turning points in the Canticle. I hope that these close readings will open up understanding of this remarkable and very personal poem. ‘The Spiritual Canticle’ is a Spanish poem of 40 stanzas. Typically, the words track the relationship of the Soul to God in terms of a lover and the Beloved, drawing especially on the Song of Songs. Bride and Bridegroom are interchangeable words, though I prefer Lover and Beloved. I will read the first 21 stanzas in John Venard’s modern English translation, then offer readings of two stanzas. We will then have an interval in which Alex Safran will talk to us about an icon he is ‘writing’ based on St John of the Cross. Then, after discussion on Alex’s work, we will return to finish reading the Canticle, looking in depth at two stanzas from the second half.

 You will be disappointed to hear that these readings lack the colourful digressive style and accompanying joie de vivre of Michael Brundell O.Carm., the pioneer of this December session, however I hope they will open up appreciation of John’s words, but more especially awaken thoughts about your own prayer life. At the same time, I will be following Michael’s practice of taking different stanzas of the chosen poem, offering some established readings of their meanings, and including my own lived experience of prayer. 

The Spiritual Canticle of St John of the Cross STANZA 6

 


The Spiritual Canticle of St John of the Cross

Carmelite Conversations

Philip Harvey

Wednesday the 7th of December 2022

STANZA 6

 Ay!, quién podrá sanarme?

Acaba de entragarte ya de vero;

No quieras enviarme

De hoy más ya mesajero

Que no saben decirme lo que quiero.

 

Ah, who will be able to heal me?

End by wholly surrendering yourself!

Do not send me any more messengers

they cannot tell me what I wish to hear.

(Venard xix)

 The opening stanzas of the Canticle enumerate the experiences of someone trying to make sense of relationship with God, now that they have been ‘wounded’ with love, calling out after the Beloved, i.e. God. We hear of how the soul, the lover, encounters obstacles and challenges on the way. Signs of the Beloved are everywhere, but where has he gone? The beauty he leaves in his wake draws the soul forward in search. News that others give of him – “a thousand graceful things” – only cause more longing and hurt due to absence. More questions than answers keep arising. The lover declares total devotion and the need to be close to the Beloved at all times. Because God is the source of Love, the lover yearns to be there more and more. One writer summarises St. John’s thought in this stanza thus: “The more that the soul knows God, the more it is consumed with desire to see Him. And when it sees that there is nothing that can cure its pain except the sight and the presence of its Beloved, it wants no other remedy. It begs Him to make it fully enjoy His presence … Only the sight of Him can satisfy the love it has for Him. It then beseeches Him to surrender Himself to it fully in complete and perfect love: Surrender yourself completely!” (Tonnelier 32)

 My personal response to this stanza comes from my own lifetime experience of prayer. This is the way his poem works, as a guide to the life of prayer, but also as an identifier of where anyone of us may be in the practice of prayer, which is about relationship with God, at any time in our life. So even though I am no expert in prayer, I can recognise what John is saying and make sense of it as real and valid experience. I relate immediately, for example, to the plea for healing. Although I don’t always think of going into prayer at the time as a means to healing, my experience tells me that some sort of mending, restitution, restoration of being happens through the simple process of praying. To be healed of the longing for connection with God, the Beloved, means praying more. It is God who heals, if and when we ask, and it can be as simple as that. The desire to have complete access and surrender is a familiar state for anyone who has been passionately in love. St. John knows this state, which he ascribes to our need for increased access and surrender to God, using the language of the Song of Songs. What we don’t want are any impediments, distractions, or as he calls them ‘messengers’ that only get in the way of complete access to our Beloved. Yet when it comes to God, we are still at the stage where we must discern that all such distractions, no matter how marvellous and placed in our way for our own improvement, are only signs and wonders of God, rather than true and complete access. It is not surprising that the lover impatiently wants these things out of the way at once. But who are these ‘messengers’? In his commentary, the poet asks to “grant that I no longer know Thee in this imperfect way by the messengers of knowledge and impressions, which are so distant from that which my soul desires.” They are necessary but at the same time “inadequate communications” that only serve to “increase the pain of Thy absence” and “renew the wound which Thou hast inflicted by the knowledge of Thee which they convey.” (Lewis 55) My sense is that the frustration expressed here is with having all sorts of signs everywhere that remind us of God’s Love, but they are only signs, reminders of what is truly possible, namely direct and even complete engagement. The experience of desire for more of this kind of relationship, this kind of love and all that it gives in turn, reciprocally, is the driving force of the soul in this situation. But I think we can also read the messengers to include the things of the world, pleasures, past-times, everything that brings passing satisfaction, but not lasting happiness, let alone eternal belonging. It is not so much a rejection of worldly things, as we call them, as the awareness that worldly things don’t last. We learn to identify them in their proper place. Our own desire meanwhile is for something greater, a desire that yearns and continues on.

The Spiritual Canticle of St John of the Cross STANZA 15

 


The Spiritual Canticle of St John of the Cross

Carmelite Conversations

Philip Harvey

Wednesday the 7th of December 2022

STANZA 15

 … la noche sosegada

en par de los levantes del aurora,

la mùsica callada,

la soledad sonora,

la cena que recrea y enamora.

 

The night serene

The time of rising dawn

The silent music

The sounding solitude

The supper which refreshes and increases love.

(Venard xx)

 

The opening of the Canticle describes the challenges and vicissitudes of the soul (the lover) in finding access to God (the Beloved). But then, through persistence and faith the soul plateaus towards an opening awareness of the beloved. The poet lists ways of perceiving God in relationship that are inspirational and consolatory. We are at a new stage in the relationship. The soul perceives God as mountains, lonely valleys, strange islands and resounding rivers, and declares the beauty and grandeur of her beloved accordingly. In this next stanza, praise continues, God being understood as the tranquil night and the early morning, then as being found in silence, and also in a supper that refreshes, a supper that gives love freely.

 Lockdowns were a good time to spend on prayer. During lockdowns at home I also discovered Spotify. This made available music I had never heard for years and much music I had never heard. Amongst the many new musicians discovered was the Catalan composer Federico Mompou (1893-1987). In the past three years I have listened over and again to different versions of Mompou’s piano work called Mùsica Callada, only to find during preparation of this paper that the expression ‘mùsica callada’ comes from Stanza 15 of this poem. Each line is elucidated in detail by the poet in his commentary. Here are his words of elucidation for his own expression ‘mùsica callada’.

 “In tranquillity and silence the soul becomes aware of Wisdom’s wonderful harmony and sequence in the variety of his creatures and works. Each of them is endowed with a certain likeness of God and in its own way gives voice to what God is in it. So creatures will be to the soul a harmonious symphony of music surpassing all concerts and melodies of the world. She calls this music ‘silent’ because it is tranquil and quiet knowledge, without the sound of voices. And thus there is in it the sweetness of music and the quietude of silence. Accordingly, she says that her Beloved is silent music because in him she knows and enjoys this symphony of spiritual music … [The praise of the blessed] is like music, for as each one possesses God’s gifts differently, each one sings his praises differently, and all of them together form a symphony of love, as of music.” (Nubecula 83)

 To read each stanza in this way, we find that the spirituality of St John is fully expressed in his commentary, which is essential to any deeper understanding of the poem. The commentary is essential to understanding St John himself, it provides broad access, but the commentary wouldn’t exist without the poem, as it’s the poem that came first. Like the reading of so much poetry, meaning develops and deepens through familiarisation, through continual re-reading. What makes St. John of the Cross different is that he later gave instruction sessions to the Carmelites in community, intimate explanations of the experiences that are not apparent in the poem. At least, not on first reading. This teaches us that prayer life is personal and therefore different for each of us. As Rowan Williams puts it, “For John, it was fundamentally important to be able to interpret his mental anguish as itself ‘grace’, the mark of God’s intimacy. The Canticle becomes more startling than ever if read in such a light.” (Williams 161) This stanza is filled with consolation, with gifts in time that come from working through extremes of experience. He enacts here places where prayer, increased relationship with God, bring him peace, connection, and refreshment. We must keep in mind though that this state of ‘silent music’ and ‘sounding solitude’ comes at some cost. Williams “warns us against supposing that what is in question is a dramatic interior ‘mystical’ thing … what he is talking about [is] the bitter and costly self-knowledge that comes through fear, inadequacy and failure, internal and external, the evaporation of ‘spiritual life’, the sense of the impossibility of pleasing God, or even of believing in God enough to want to please him: the reduction of spirituality to nothing. The illuminative way; nothing else can serve as a preparation for the authentic union of the self with God.” (Williams 175), “