Second Sunday in Advent
First, this passed on from the inimitable Mary Earle, in her class on Philip Newell and the Celtic vision of creation. Her focus today was on the Sabbath, the day of rest, and its resonance with Death, the eternal Sabbath. This prayer is from The Carmina Gadelica:
Thou goest home this night to thy home of winter,
To thy home of autumn, of spring, and of summer;
Thou goest home this night to thy perpetual home,
To thine eternal bed, to thine eternal slumber.
Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow,
Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow,
Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow,
Sleep, thou beloved, in the Rock of the fold.
Sleep this night in the breast of thy Mother,
Sleep, thou beloved, while she herself soothes thee;
Sleep thout this night on the Virgin's arm,
Sleep, thout beloved, while she herself kisses thee.
The great sleep of Jesus, the surpassing sleep of Jesus,
The sleep of Jesus' wound, the sleep of Jesus' grief.
The young sleep of Jesus, the restoring sleep of Jesus,
The sleep of the kiss of Jesus of peace and of glory.
....
Sleep, O sleep in the calm of all calm,
Sleep, O sleep in the guidance of guidance,
Sleep, O sleep in the love of all loves,
Sleep, O beloved in the Lord of life,
Sleep, O beloved, in the God of life.
And then, during the service, this:
ES IST EIN ROS'DEUTSCH
(Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming)
Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen, aus einer Wurzel zart,
Wie uns die Alten sungen, von Jesse kam die Art,
Und hat ein Blümlein bracht mitten im kalten Winter
Wohl zu der halben Nacht.
Das Röslein, das ich meine, davon Jesaias sagt,
Ist Maria die Reine uns das Blümlein bracht.
Aus Gottes ew'gen Rat hat sie ein Kind geboren
Und blieb ein' reine Magd.
Das Blümelein, so kleine, das duftet uns so süß,
Mit seinem hellen Scheine vertreibt's die Finsternis.
Wahr' Mensch und wahrer Gott, hilft uns aus allen Leiden,
Rettet von Sünd' und Tod.
O Jesu, bis zum Scheiden aus diesem Jammertal
Laß Dein hilf uns geleiten hin in den Freudensaal,
In Deines Vaters Reich, da wir Dich ewig loben.
O Gott, uns das verleih.
Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming, as those of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.
Isaiah 'twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
Mary we behold it, the Virgin Mother kind.
To show God's love aright, she bore to us a Savior,
When half spent was the night.
The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger they found Him,
As angel heralds said.
This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
And lightens every load.
Thou goest home this night to thy home of winter,
To thy home of autumn, of spring, and of summer;
Thou goest home this night to thy perpetual home,
To thine eternal bed, to thine eternal slumber.
Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow,
Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow,
Sleep thou, sleep, and away with thy sorrow,
Sleep, thou beloved, in the Rock of the fold.
Sleep this night in the breast of thy Mother,
Sleep, thou beloved, while she herself soothes thee;
Sleep thout this night on the Virgin's arm,
Sleep, thout beloved, while she herself kisses thee.
The great sleep of Jesus, the surpassing sleep of Jesus,
The sleep of Jesus' wound, the sleep of Jesus' grief.
The young sleep of Jesus, the restoring sleep of Jesus,
The sleep of the kiss of Jesus of peace and of glory.
....
Sleep, O sleep in the calm of all calm,
Sleep, O sleep in the guidance of guidance,
Sleep, O sleep in the love of all loves,
Sleep, O beloved in the Lord of life,
Sleep, O beloved, in the God of life.
And then, during the service, this:
ES IST EIN ROS'DEUTSCH
(Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming)
Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen, aus einer Wurzel zart,
Wie uns die Alten sungen, von Jesse kam die Art,
Und hat ein Blümlein bracht mitten im kalten Winter
Wohl zu der halben Nacht.
Das Röslein, das ich meine, davon Jesaias sagt,
Ist Maria die Reine uns das Blümlein bracht.
Aus Gottes ew'gen Rat hat sie ein Kind geboren
Und blieb ein' reine Magd.
Das Blümelein, so kleine, das duftet uns so süß,
Mit seinem hellen Scheine vertreibt's die Finsternis.
Wahr' Mensch und wahrer Gott, hilft uns aus allen Leiden,
Rettet von Sünd' und Tod.
O Jesu, bis zum Scheiden aus diesem Jammertal
Laß Dein hilf uns geleiten hin in den Freudensaal,
In Deines Vaters Reich, da wir Dich ewig loben.
O Gott, uns das verleih.
Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming, as those of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.
Isaiah 'twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
Mary we behold it, the Virgin Mother kind.
To show God's love aright, she bore to us a Savior,
When half spent was the night.
The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger they found Him,
As angel heralds said.
This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
And lightens every load.
Labels: Advent, Mary Earle, roses
posted by murat11 at 3:07 PM
4 Comments:
That death/rest/sabbath resonance is powerful indeed. Don't know if you've read any of Judith Orloff's pop psych stuff, but in one of her books she equated persistent insomnia with fear of death, fear of the settling down into that unknown place where we're enveloped by otherness. Now that you've passed on Ms. Earle's wisdom, I'm starting to connect the dots between our culture's rush-to-do-it-all obsession with a similar fear.
Now, watch me toss and turn tonight.
Mary Earle is a local Episcopal priest/teacher/wisdom woman who has written and taught extensively on the desert saints (desert mothers) and Celtic spirituality. Both are linked by a vision of our essence as "in God," as opposed to the more western "there is no health in us." The Celtic prayers she has shared with us are incredibly beautiful and circular/feminine.
I am familiar with Judith Orloff's work, as well as Sandra Ingerman, who I believe still lives up in your neck of the woods.
Sandra Ingerman does live here. Speaking of this neck of the woods, the dreary moisture--I'm mixing posts here--has morphed into actual snow. The pinons and junipers wear it well. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. That's more like it.
Happy snow to you all. Our drear is headed for a high near 80 tomorrow. It sure doesn't feel like it's headed that way. Peace.
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