Not Sundered From its Maker

How the Incarnation Proves that the World is Indeed Full of Magic

I was asking myself recently why it was that I chose to specialize in medieval literature from Ireland as opposed to England, for it was an immersion in Old English that first stirred my heart towards medieval studies.

Some may accuse me of making a gross oversimplification here, and there are always exceptions to generalizations such as this: but what I have found is a striking difference in tone between the literature of the Anglo-Saxons and that of the Irish. A sense of mourning for a lost glory pervades much of Anglo-Saxon poetry, akin to that of the Old Testament prophets living in a hope-shorn exile. Against this backdrop, the stories of the Irish thunder in my imagination with an almost feverish wonder at times. As I read their stories, the Irish writers present themselves to me as having imaginations which voraciously chased after wonder. Do not be deceived; at times this wonder is kindled by the monstrously dangerous lurking in the misty, forgotten corners of the world. But this same wonder is also birthed by images of aching beauty, be they Faërie or “ordinary.”

John Carey, one of the most prolific Celtic scholars of our time, sometimes meets with criticism for being of an older scholarly persuasion, believing that we can distill a native, pagan belief system from the literature of the Irish. While I think that finding such an undiluted pagan belief system is essentially impossible, I am nevertheless more sympathetic with Carey’s views because of his eye to the heartbeat of the literature itself. I myself think that we have more to learn from the medieval Irish merely by asking ourselves why their imaginations were so turbulently stirred by these images from their mythological past. I will defer to Carey here for one possible explanation:

“It is because of the potencies latent within [the natural world’s] very essence that wonders can be drawn from water and air, from stone and flesh. And this pious rationalism too goes hand in hand with a reverent sense of mystery…. Understanding the world’s mysteries can move the soul to worship, and so can failure to understand them. In finding a road to God in their experience of nature, the Irish celebrated a universe which is not sundered from its Maker.”¹

The imagination of a medieval author lived in what Charles Taylor would call a porous world, a “world not sundered from its Maker” and therefore a world that was brimming with liminality. This is especially true of the Irish, whose literature is brimming with portals to the Otherworld and encounters with creatures from there. These literary images function in a number of ways, providing a playground for the mind to tease out ideas related to theology, imagination, politics, and so much more. But more often than that, the literature is so engorged with fantastical objects and persons and animals that we can hardly begin to assign a specific purpose to each and every one.

I am inclined to think that this abundance of creativity merely points to something quite simple, yet terribly profound: the medieval Irish believed that, in a world held together by the Logos of Creation itself, there is no such thing as a secular, disenchanted place. There is only the sacred or the desecrated, and everywhere you look (if one has eyes to see it) you can catch glimpses of the mysterium tremendum all around you. I think it is this Otherworldly gaze so mastered by Irish authors which gives much of their literature that almost feverish quality, a quality which is also accompanied by a “reverent sense of mystery” that sets the heart on the path towards worship.

“The ultimate theological justification for mankind’s imaginative capacity lies in its analogy to the cosmogonic work of the Creator, of which we ourselves—God’s self-portrait-are the supreme example.”²

Herein lies our connection to the Incarnation. If Irish literature is populated with images that shock readers with the view that “there are more things in Heaven and Earth…than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” how much more so does the portrait of God Himself in the Incarnate Christ arrest us in our comfortably buffered delusions? For the medieval Irish, the creative process was a God-given capacity whereby we imitate our Creator in an act of artistic worship. In the same way, Christ as the Image of the invisible God, the Portrait of his very Being, calls us to an even more fantastical road of worshipping God through the Image of Himself.

The delusion that we are alone in this world, that there is no such thing as enchantment, has promised to alleviate our fears, yet we are more anxious and despairing than ever. The miracle of the Incarnation, however, is the True Myth that awakes us from our delusion of being alone in this world, the Image that shows us that the World is not only full of its Maker but is held together by the very same.

This Advent season, with a mind and heart that is barely hobbling towards the end of an arduous academic year, I am turning to the Irish as an example of keeping my soul alive to the wonder of the mysterium tremendum, of the God who calls me further up and further in to this wild, wonderful life that his Son came to usher me into, a life more achingly beautiful and holy than even the most enlivened imagination can dream of.

O magnum mysterium,

et admirabile sacramentum,

ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,

iacentem in praesepio!

Beata Virgo, cujus viscera

meruerunt portare

Dominum Iesum Christum.

Alleluia!

O great mystery,

and wonderful sacrament,

that animals should see the newborn Lord,

lying in a manger!

Blessed is the virgin whose womb

was worthy to bear

the Lord, Jesus Christ.

Alleluia!

Curated Joys

In honor of the Advent season, I have a few delights to help prepare your heart for the coming High Holy Day ahead: Christmas.

Music

First, this rendition of the above hymn, O Magnum Mysterium, is probably my favorite version of it. Wait until you have a quiet, undisturbed moment to listen to it—preferably once the sun has set and the world is more hushed. Read the English lyrics as you listen to the Latin if you would like.

Books

Second, I have a few favorite books for this time of year, both theological and fictional.

This advent devotional from The Anglican Way was written to accompany the readings from the Daily Office (the 1928 BCP version). It will be my first year using it, but it looks highly promising.

If you have not read any of Jan Karon’s books from her beloved Mitford series, do so immediately. Following the parish life of an Episcopalian priest, these books will usher you into the parish life of a community you won’t want to leave. This book in the series takes place during Christmas time. If you do read it, there will be spoilers for the earlier books, but I think you can start with it and not feel too lost. It is just magical. I cried reading it the first time.

Another great Advent book, though perhaps less traditional of a devotional. The readings from this book come from such a wide range of writers, and though I have never read it cover to cover, the readings I have enjoyed are beautifully stirring.

Artwork

Finally, I will leave you with one of my favorite pieces I’ve painted for wintertide: “Quiet Joy.” I would personally love to spend a snowy day in the woods with this little fox.

1. John Carey, King of Mysteries: Early Irish Religious Writings, pg. 23.

2. John Carey, King of Mysteries: Early Irish Religious Writings, pg. 24.