Ash Wednesday

To commemorate and get us in the mindset of the day, I've posted a selection from T.S. Eliot's poem, Ash Wednesday. This poem chronicles the movement of the soul turning from despair and back to hope in God. Basing this poem on his own conversion experience, Elliot gives a moving example of one who has found himself helpless in desolation, but finds the impetus to turn back to God.

Though I have only looked at the poem shortly in the past (I think my 20th century lit prof had us read the poem for Ash Wednesday a couple years ago when I took the course), reading it again today, I was able to pick up on some more allusions and literary tools Elliot uses to get his point across. See if you can find the allusions to the Bible, parts of the Roman Rite, and even a line from Dante.

I chose to post the last section of the poem because I think it is the most hopeful. Yes, Ash Wednesday is a time to understand the fleetingness of this life and that we constantly fail horribly to live up to the standards of our God. But it is also a time of hope. Remember you are created from dust and to dust you shall return, so it is time to repent and return to the Gospel! We are just at the beginning of the season to prepare ourselves for Christ's greatest act of love for us: an innocent death on a cross, a death he endured for our sins.

My favorite lines are in the second half of the last stanza. "Teach us to care and to not care." Powerful words. This is precisely the struggle that Christians must endure and be aware of everyday.

I encourage anyone who has a few extra minutes to read the entire poem. You can find it here.

Ash Wednesday
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.

Blessèd 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.