Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. ~ T.S. Eliot

Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. ~ T.S. Eliot

T.S. Eliot reads Journey of the Magi

T.S. Eliot reads Journey of the Magi

T.S. Eliot's Journey of the Magi

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, 
     refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the 
     terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and 
     grumbling
And running away, and wanting their
     liquor and women, 
And the night-fires going out, and the 
     lack of shelters, 
And the cities hostile and the towns 
     unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high
     prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all 
     night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, 
     saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a 
     temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of 
     vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill
     beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped in 
     away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with 
     vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for 
     pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no imformation, and so
     we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment
     too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say)
     satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I 
     remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This:  were we led all that way for
Birth or Death?  There was a Birth, 
     certainly, 
We had evidence and no doubt.  I had 
     seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; 
     this Birth was 
Hard and bitter agony for us, like 
     Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these
     Kingdoms, 
But no longer at ease here, in the old 
     dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their 
     gods.
I should be glad of another death.

T.S. Eliot reads Journey of the Magi

T.S. Eliot reads Journey of the Magi

The Journey of the Magi, T.S. Eliot

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, 
     refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the 
     terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and 
     grumbling
And running away, and wanting their
     liquor and women, 
And the night-fires going out, and the 
     lack of shelters, 
And the cities hostile and the towns 
     unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high
     prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all 
     night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, 
     saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a 
     temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of 
     vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill
     beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped in 
     away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with 
     vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for 
     pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no imformation, and so
     we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment
     too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say)
     satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I 
     remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This:  were we led all that way for
Birth or Death?  There was a Birth, 
     certainly, 
We had evidence and no doubt.  I had 
     seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; 
     this Birth was 
Hard and bitter agony for us, like 
     Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these
     Kingdoms, 
But no longer at ease here, in the old 
     dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their 
     gods.
I should be glad of another death.

Ash-Wednesday by T S Eliot

Because I do not hope to turn again

Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn

Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things

(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)

Why should I mourn

The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again

The infirm glory of the positive hour

Because I do not think

Because I know I shall not know

The one veritable transitory power

Because I cannot drink

There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time

And place is always and only place

And what is actual is actual only for one time

And only for one place

I rejoice that things are as they are and

I renounce the blessed face

And renounce the voice

Because I cannot hope to turn again

Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something

Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us

And pray that I may forget

These matters that with myself I too much discuss

Too much explain

Because I do not hope to turn again

Let these words answer

For what is done, not to be done again

May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly

But merely vans to beat the air

The air which is now thoroughly small and dry

Smaller and dryer than the will

Teach us to care and not to care

Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

II

Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree

In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety

On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained

In the hollow round of my skull. And God said

Shall these bones live? shall these

Bones live? And that which had been contained

In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:

Because of the goodness of this Lady

And because of her loveliness, and because

She honours the Virgin in meditation,

We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled

Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love

To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.

It is this which recovers

My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions

Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn

In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.

Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.

There is no life in them. As I am forgotten

And would be forgotten, so I would forget

Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said

Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only

The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping

With the burden of the grasshopper, saying

Lady of silences

Calm and distressed

Torn and most whole

Rose of memory

Rose of forgetfulness

Exhausted and life-giving

Worried reposeful

The single Rose

Is now the Garden

Where all loves end

Terminate torment

Of love unsatisfied

The greater torment

Of love satisfied

End of the endless

Journey to no end

Conclusion of all that

Is inconclusible

Speech without word and

Word of no speech

Grace to the Mother

For the Garden

Where all love ends.

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining

We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,

Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,

Forgetting themselves and each other, united

In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye

Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity

Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

III

At the first turning of the second stair

I turned and saw below

The same shape twisted on the banister

Under the vapour in the fetid air

Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears

The deceitul face of hope and of despair.

At the second turning of the second stair

I left them twisting, turning below;

There were no more faces and the stair was dark,

Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,

Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.

At the first turning of the third stair

Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit

And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene

The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green

Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.

Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,

Lilac and brown hair;

Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,

Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair

Climbing the third stair.

Lord, I am not worthy

Lord, I am not worthy

but speak the word only.

IV

Who walked between the violet and the violet

Who walked between

The various ranks of varied green

Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,

Talking of trivial things

In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour

Who moved among the others as they walked,

Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs

Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand

In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,

Sovegna vos

Here are the years that walk between, bearing

Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring

One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing

White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.

The new years walk, restoring

Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring

With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem

The time. Redeem

The unread vision in the higher dream

While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.

The silent sister veiled in white and blue

Between the yews, behind the garden god,

Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word

But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down

Redeem the time, redeem the dream

The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

V

If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent

If the unheard, unspoken

Word is unspoken, unheard;

Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,

The Word without a word, the Word within

The world and for the world;

And the light shone in darkness and

Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled

About the centre of the silent Word.

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word

Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence

Not on the sea or on the islands, not

On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,

For those who walk in darkness

Both in the day time and in the night time

The right time and the right place are not here

No place of grace for those who avoid the face

No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice

Will the veiled sister pray for

Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,

Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between

Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait

In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray

For children at the gate

Who will not go away and cannot pray:

Pray for those who chose and oppose

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Will the veiled sister between the slender

Yew trees pray for those who offend her

And are terrified and cannot surrender

And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks

In the last desert before the last blue rocks

The desert in the garden the garden in the desert

Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.

O my people.

VI

Although I do not hope to turn again

Although I do not hope

Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss

In this brief transit where the dreams cross

The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying

(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things

From the wide window towards the granite shore

The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying

Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices

In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices

And the weak spirit quickens to rebel

For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell

Quickens to recover

The cry of quail and the whirling plover

And the blind eye creates

The empty forms between the ivory gates

And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,

Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood

Teach us to care and not to care

Teach us to sit still

Even among these rocks,

Our peace in His will

And even among these rocks

Sister, mother

And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,

Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

'Ash-Wednesday', from Collected Poems 1909-1962 by T S Eliot, © T S Eliot 1963, Faber & Faber Limited 

My Sermon from first Staff/Faculty Chapel Service

Opening Faculty - Staff Chapel Service

Genesis 1:24 - 2:3; Psalm 46; Reading from T.S. Eliot’s “The Four Quartets”

28 August 2007

On the way from East Middlebury Vermont on Route 125 to Hancock Vermont, there are two hills that literally take your breath away. The first is just after the bridge that carries traffic about 50 feet over the Middlebury River – over “the gorge.” That first hill is affectionately called “Sand Hill.” The reason for the name, “Sand Hill” in fact is that there is always a healthy coating of sand on the hill, even in summer there is a healthy layer left over from the icy winter. It is steep, but in a car for 9 months of the year it really won’t give you any problems. However, for those three (or 5!) winter months, it is important to be moving with some velocity before the bridge so that your momentum (and engine) can take you up “Sand Hill.” Now, on a bike, it is a seriously different matter than in a car … on a bike “Sand Hill” offers a challenge to your legs, heart, lungs and spirit no matter the month, the season, the weather or the quality of the cyclist. Even if you are strong, there is a good likelihood that you can slip and fall while trying to climb uphill.

The second major hill on the route from East Middlebury to Hancock is a much bigger deal; this is the hill that hits you not so long after you pass the pristine summer campus of Bread Loaf, where notable writers such as Robert Frost lived, and where many notable writers, such as Ann Sexton, John Updike still teach writing. The road rolls along in a civilized way for a mile or two before you re-enter the woods, and the road hits a wall. That hill has no name, but it is also covered by sand, but unlike Sand Hill, it doesn’t last a hundred yards, but lasts about 2 miles. When you hit that hill, it can make you feel like you might just turn around and go home, it takes your breath away, and in mid – July, even in Vermont, it can be a roasting experience on the hot road. It is so steep you don’t want to take your hands off the handlebars to take a drink, and it is one of those places where you just have to dig deep.

Sometimes, all we can do is put one foot in front of another, be conscious of our breathing and just hope that the steep stretch will, indeed, be over soon. At other times, even in the steepest part of our lives, we can find a rhythm, perhaps we are reminded of a happy moment, perhaps our faith gives us strength in our legs and heart and soul, and often there are others who minister to us and give us a sense of rest, even in our most trying times. Sometimes another will just pedal along with us for a stretch of time, share their time with us, share their own experience, and we realize that we will make it after all!

Even in these moments of stress and challenge, (and perhaps especially in these moments), God is there. Even, and especially, in these moments of stress, God is there. “Be still, then, and know I am God.” The psalmist knows that life is full of motion, of busy-ness, of action. The psalmist does not live in a fantasy-land. No, the psalmist calls out the words of God, “Be still, then, and know that I am God.”

We all know how the schedule starts spinning and all we can do is jump on and try to enjoy the ride. However, the physicist and the dancer among us might remind us that there is also a place where we can go where the spinning is not so treacherous. “At the still point of the turning world….there the dance is.” Or, as Augustine would remind us, “our hearts are restless until they rest in thee.”

Today the church remembers Augustine of Hippo, ... can we learn from Augustine? Augustine knew that we are in some major way restless, anxious, stressed with all the changes and chances of our lives, and can know true rest only in God’s embrace. The hope is that God is with us, that God loves us, and does not wait to care for us, to offer us rest, but is immanent and holding us in the palms of God’s hands! “Be still, then, and know that I am God.”

What might we learn from God as God created (and still creates through us, and among us and beside us)? In Genesis, we hear the story of God creating, but we also hear that God rested. Each day after work, God reflected, and rested. This practice of work, reflection, and rest may be one that is healthy for our students, even for us (and especially for me!). [And who better to model our day upon than God, anyway!]

God also ordained the day of rest, the Sabbath. We Christians have much to learn from our Jewish brothers and sisters in terms of honoring the Sabbath. Imagine really taking a day away from work to turn to family, to spend time with friends, to eat food already prepared, to worship, to enjoy God’s creation, and to remember that IT is not about us, and IT does not depend on US after all. Taking an entire day away may look impossible, but the concept of Sabbath-keeping may be one in which we can carve Sabbath-time out of our busy days. As a wise person in our midst reminded me yesterday when I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, “it doesn’t all have to be perfect.” I know how I can get caught up in the chase for perfection. Lord knows our girls need reminders that in seeking excellence, they also must take a break, and they need to give themselves a break – to work with diligence, but then take themselves lightly. In taking time to reflect and relax and play, we cultivate gratitude, and cultivate thanksgiving for all we have and for all we are. Even the medieval Benedictine monks included “Play” as one of their key values..

Embracing playfulness, and cultivating a practice of work, reflection, and rest will be especially important as we as a school enter into this time of change, of restlessness, and of stress. There are many beginnings here this year, and endings as well, the community seems to possess a wealth of hope, but probably at least a bit of fear as well. As Cathy wrote in her letter to the upper school faculty, “The theme of change remains, paradoxically, a constant for the next several years at St. Catherine’s.” If change = stress, we probably need to help each other weather some of the changes going on here!

New Head of School, End of Boarding, Building Renovation, New Business Office Configuration, New Business Manager, Newe Online Program-Whipple Hill, VAIS Re-Accreditation, New Faculty, New Students, Growth in Middle School, New Chaplain...

...New classes, new teams, new musical groups, new friends, new names to learn, new curriculum to teach, new classrooms in which to teach, new clothes to wear, new city to negotiate, …..and any other newness and challenges and changes and chances that are present in your lives, the lives of your loved ones, and the lives also of our students!

And we know how change goes, change is really ok, as long as you don’t ask me to change, go ahead and change whatever you like. We may feel at times like we are climbing up Sand Hill, that our wheels can’t get much traction, and that the flat, easy ground is far far away. I know that I have trouble sometimes as I summon the energy to get through the steep and slick roads. However, the great hope is that God offers us a model of work, reflection, and rest. When we can “Be still” and know that we are NOT God…when we can find the “still point,”…we might remember to “give ourselves a break,” both literally and figuratively. Taking time and taking ourselves lightly. When we can do our work, then reflect upon it, and rest, we might see that it ain’t so bad, we can make it up the hill, and there are many others around to help. The changes we are experiencing are probably nothing like the changes that our girls are experiencing, as our summer reading reminded us again. Just as we have experienced the hills and valleys of life, our students are experiencing many of those challenges for the first time. Our own modeling of work, reflection, and rest will also help our students to find that “still point,” where they can “know God” and know themselves as created, loved and cared for by God.

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night/day, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.