I’ve never really “got” poetry. Some people love poetry, savouring the subtlety and splendour of the careful concoctions of words which paint pictures and express emotions far beyond themselves. Sadly, I’m not one of these people. Perhaps I’m always in too much of a rush to really “get it”.
Recently, though, I’ve taken an interest in the work of the American poet Sara Teasdale, not through reading her poetry – her Collected Poems, which my wife kindly bought me for Christmas, remain largely unopened, spine unbroken, on the bookshelf – but through its lush and evocative settings for choir by the Latvian composer Ēriks Ešenvalds.
Ešenvalds’s music brings the beauty of Teasdale’s words to life, perhaps nowhere more so than at the close of Stars, where a choir and humming wine glasses (yes, you did read that correctly) hold a chord as the altos intone the poem’s final words:
“And I know I
Am honoured to be
Witness
Of so much majesty.”
These words are undoubtedly true of the “heaven full of stars over my head, white and topaz and misty red” which Teasdale’s poem describes, but aren’t they also true of so much more? Certainly of other mighty things in nature – mountains and trees, rivers and ravines – but also more delicate things: the beautiful butterfly wing, the balmy breeze on a blistering day, the laughter of a little one.
If we take “majesty” to mean anything impressive, awesome and worthy of respect, then we witness majesty every day. We see it in the people we encounter, each a miracle made in the image of the most majestic One Himself. We see it even in the most mundane tasks or things which, in truth, we ourselves did nothing to create or sustain.
James chapter 1 draws us to the source of all this earthly majesty: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights”. All majesty – both macro and micro – is from the Lord, created by Him and pointing us to His ultimate majesty. As our perfect and generous Father, He has scattered majesty all around us, in everything and everyone, as gifts of His grace, so each day, we can claim, with Teasdale, that we are “honoured to be witness of so much majesty”. But do we?
Do we think like this? Do we approach each day, each desire, each duty like this?
My guess is not. Like me and poetry, we’re often too busy to stop and savour the majesty God has gifted us, especially if it’s packaged in the ordinary things we consider commonplace.
But what if we were to work hard to change this?
What if, every day, we were to don metaphorical “majesty specs” and search for majesty, in all things, in both the mighty and the mundane: in the Monday morning muddle as well as our treasured time with loved ones or once-in-a-lifetime opportunities?
What if we were to reframe everything we have, everything we do, everyone we meet, everything we see and smell and taste and touch, as a gift of majesty?
Of course this won’t make everything perfect and solve all of life’s problems, but it might go some way to help us realise God’s intentions for us in His majestic world.
A major challenge to this, of course, is busyness, and the consequent speed at which many of us do things. Re-majestising our lives will take time, slowing down, a shift towards the psalmist’s invitation to “Be still and know that I am God”, but if we take this time, carve it out, make deliberate choices to search for majesty and thank God for what we find, we’ll surely live richer and rounder lives, enjoying God’s good and gracious gifts, and God Himself, more wholly.
Perhaps we’ll come to appreciate new gifts too. Perhaps I’ll even come to “get” poetry. Perhaps.
