I finally decided to put this blog to use, since I wanted to post the following long poem on The Continuum and felt it would take up too much space there. I wrote this a few years ago, and want to share it as a Lenten meditation.
The Beautiful Wrath of God
Introduction
Christians sometimes get apologetic or embarrassed by some of what Scripture has to say about the character of God. Our view of Him is often limited by our human comprehension of things, our own limited judgment of what is good and bad, right and wrong. Genesis 3 identifies this very tendency, the desire to “know good and evil” as if we were God, as the most obvious cause (and result) of Adam’s fall. He is bigger and grander than our finite minds can grasp. He is good, He is beautiful, He is love; that is the testimony of Scripture. So, instead of being embarrassed by God’s wrath, let’s agree with Scripture that any attribute of His is beautiful, and let’s look for the beauty in the wrath of God. These thoughts began to grow in my mind during an elders’ prayer meeting at Grace (my former church), and on March 13, 1998, they became a poem. This is it.
This piece is designed to be performed. The lines beginning “Hagios” are designed to be sung according to the ancient melody of the Greek chant called “Trisagion” (“Thrice Holy”):
Hagios ho theos, Holy God,
Hagios ischyros, Holy Mighty One,
Hagios athanatos, Holy Immortal One
eleison ymas. have mercy on us.
However, it’s not necessary to know the chant to appreciate the poem and the lines in question can be simply read.
Some of the other references may need a word of explanation as well: “Hagios” (Greek) and “Sanctus” (Latin) both, of course, mean “Holy”. “Felix culpa” (Latin for “blessed fault”) comes from a thoughtful passage in the Roman liturgy for Easter Eve:
O mira circa nos tuae pietatis dignatio! O inaestimabilis dilectio caritatis: ut servum redimeres, Filium tradidisti! O certe necessarium Adae peccatum, quod Christi morte delectum est! O felix culpa, quae talem ac tantum meruit habere Redemptorem!
O wondrous condescension of Your mercy toward us! O incomprehensible goodness of love: to redeem a slave You delivered up a Son! O truly necessary sin of Adam, which the death of Christ has blotted out! O happy fault, that merited a Redeemer so holy and so great!
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THE BEAUTIFUL WRATH OF GOD
Isaiah 6:1-7. In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly. And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory. And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke. Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts. Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar: And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.
Hagios ho theos, Holy God,
high and lifted up.
You, the One whose praises ring,
Whose servants sing,
and shout with praise for endless days
before Your throne on high:
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," the angel voices cry;
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," the voices never die;
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," and yet I dare draw nigh
to You, the King, the Holy One,
Who looks within and sees my sin
and knows my life, my inner strife;
and here I am before Your face,
unworthy, out of place.
O Holy One, I am undone,
no merits do I own.
No favors have I earned;
your holy law I've spurned.
My ways are what I sought;
Your wrath is what I've bought.
To me it all is woe;
from your presence I should go;
but here I am.
Hagios ischyros, Holy Mighty One, Lord God of power and might.
I stand in awe before Your throne, O Lord, O Holy One,
in awe my trembling knees and heart must fail
for lack of strength before the Presence filled with light,
the endless light before all time
which pours from the face of God,
the true illuming beauty light
which mortals cannot bear,
the holy light, the spotless light, the light of holiness,
the light that shines and pierces deep,
that burns and purifies,
that purifies and terrifies, and tolerates no sin.
No sin without, no sin within, no smallest taint of sin
can mar the perfect beauty, Lord,
which is what you are,
can mar the perfect beauty, Lord,
which is what you made
the heavens, the earth, all creatures, man
to purely represent, reveal, proclaim,
and revel in the glory of Your Face,
the glory meant to show on earth
in Adam's blessed race,
which Adam hid in his own sin
and wilful fall from grace.
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," the angel voices cry;
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," the voices never die;
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," and yet I dare draw nigh
to You, the King, the Holy One,
Who looks within and sees my sin
and knows my life, my inner strife;
and here I am before Your face,
unworthy, out of place.
O Holy One, I am undone,
though standing at your throne.
In beauty here I stand,
in the place where sin is banned;
Your beauty looks like wrath
laid across my path,
making me to know
just where I cannot go.
I hunger and I thirst on this lowly sod,
wanting only this: the beautiful wrath of God.
Hagios athanatos, eleison ymas
Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us.
I see the beauty, I see the wrath,
I know the depths of loss.
I see the beauty, I see the wrath,
behold the holy Cross!
Behold Him there, in the air; behold the Son of God!
Behold Him there in the light of day:
the Truth, the Life, the Way.
Behold the One, God's only Son, opening the path,
hanging above, showing in love,
His Father's beautiful wrath.
O wrath of God, how pure, how clean,
O wrath that harbors love!
O felix culpa, happy fault,
when answered from above,
with love much more than Adam knew,
with passion from the throne,
for more than love, more wonderful
is the beautiful wrath of God.
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," the angel voices cry;
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," the voices never die;
"Sanctus, holy, hagios," and yet I dare draw nigh
to You, the King, the Holy One,
Who looks within and sees my sin
and knows my life, my inner strife;
and here I am before Your face,
to praise You in Your sovereign grace,
and evermore with love embrace
the beautiful wrath of God.
