Take Time to "Wallow"

I think I need to tell my high school English Literature teacher how awesome he was. Plaid sport coats, bowties and a brush cut . . . along with a little smirk on his face—these are the things I remember about him as he stood in front of our class. He was an artist in every sense of the word; he loved the English language and music and for some reason he loved teaching high school seniors, most of whom had no interest in Shakespearean sonnets, much less how to write a heroic couplet .

I remember walking into class one day and telling him that our school choir was singing songs from “South Pacific.” I told him that I loved the song “Some enchanted Evening” and asked him if he loved it too, fully believing that he would tell me it was “schmaltzy crap.” Instead he said, “Love it? I wallow in it.” I’ve never forgotten his totally unapologetic response to a song that, as a seventeen-year-old, I thought was the most romantic thing I had ever heard. (I wonder what he’d say if I told him that a few years later I did meet a stranger that I had spotted across a crowded room, sent someone to introduce us, and we’re still together after forty years. Somehow, I think he’d wallow in that story too.)

For reasons that totally escaped my high school classmates, Mr. Haan made us memorize poetry. There were at least six things he insisted that we recite, including works by Shakespeare, Blake and Tennyson. I didn’t understand the logic behind memorizing these works either, but since it was an easy thing for me to do, I never minded being called up to his desk to recite the latest poem. And guess what? I can still do it, much to the annoyance of my family and friends. In fact, I even learned more than what was required of me because in the process I discovered that there’s something so beautiful about putting words together in poetry.

Shakespeare’s description of love in Sonnet 116 was pretty good when I first learned it, but now it has become beauty and truth borne out by experience. Love is . . . “an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken;” it is the “star to every wandering bark . . .” I’m thinking that a little Shakespeare along with I Corinthians 13 read at wedding ceremonies might be a great idea.

I’ve also thought a lot about Tennyson’s description of prayer when he says, “more things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.” He describes prayer as a “golden chain” that binds the entire world around the feet of God. I can’t find a more beautiful description than that and I never tire of reciting it. And, speaking of prayer, I can’t think of anything better (other than the Lord’s Prayer of course) than John Donne’s “Hymn to God the Father.” In this poem of confession, Donne talks about all of the possible ways he has sinned, confesses them and ends each verse by telling God that there will always be more. Donne asks God to remind him that at his death, the work of Jesus will be complete and his final sin—the sin of fear—will be gone. I wasn’t required to memorize this poem, but after Mr. Haan explained it to our class, I claimed it as mine. Whenever I fly in a plane—you know during those few moments of take-off when all of those crazy “what if” thoughts go through your head?—that’s when I recite it.

Let me tell you one more thing about poetry that I’ve learned recently. It can get you out of a jam. You see, I love studying church history, creeds and theology—that’s one of the luxuries of my life. However, when I have to write papers sometimes I get stuck with things that seem illogical. And let’s face it, there are things we believe that are difficult to explain and sometimes seem to defy logic. That’s when I pull out John Donne. It’s not that he can explain things any better, but he’s an artist and has the ability to celebrate those things that are incomprehensible. I could write a pretty long paper about the virgin birth, but when it’s finished Donne’s words “immensity cloistered in thy dear womb” speak to my heart rather than my logic. “Immensity cloistered”—I’ll never tire of that phrase.

Donne can’t really explain the Trinity much better than I can, and admits that reason “proves weak or untrue;” yet he can confidently say, “batter my heart, three-- personed God” because “I dearly love you.” He desperately wants all of the qualities of each person of the trinity present in his own life. And that’s what matters most.

I hope that there’s a little poet or a little artist in all of us—I have to believe there is. I know it’s different for everyone, but we tend to push that inner poet pretty far back sometime. I had a teacher recently, who taught a creeds and confessions class, that would periodically interrupt himself and begin to recite an appropriate poem while looking each of us in the eye. Talk about getting my attention! Maybe we should try that more often.

I would have missed lot in my life if I had never learned to appreciate poetry or any of the arts. We don’t always have to be logical you know. A lot of people believe that artists will change the world and I’m starting to think they might be on to something. Whether it’s true or not, I’m grateful for that high school English Literature teacher, and I’m going to continue to read and recite poetry because it’s given me clarity in life, it makes us all like each other a little more, and . . . it has also kept me out of a few jams.