Sunday, December 07, 2008

Feast of The Immaculate Conception



Saint Anne conceiving the Virgin Mary, by Jean Bellegambe



When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be. Yeah
There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be



No, woman, no cry
No, woman, no cry
No, woman, no cry
No, woman, no cry

Said said
Said I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown
Oba, ob-serving the hypocrites
As they would
mingle with the good people we meet
Good friends we have had,
Oh, good friends we've lost
along the way
In this great future you can't forget your past
So dry your tears, I say

No, woman, no cry
No, woman, no cry
Ee little darling, don't shed no tears
No, woman, no cry

Said, said,
Said I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown
And then Georgie would make the fire light
As it was log wood burnin' through the night
Then we would cook corn meal porridge
Of which I'll share with you

My feet is my only carriage
So I've got to push on through
But while I'm gone, I mean...

Everything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright
Ev'rything's gonna be alright

So woman, no cry
No, no, woman,
No, woman, no cry
Oh, my little sister, don't shed no tears
No, woman, no cry

I remember when we used to sit
In a government yard in Trenchtown
And then Georgie would make the fire light
As it was log wood burnin' through the night
Then we would cook corn meal porridge
Of which I'll share with you

My feet is my only carriage
So I've got to push on through
But while I'm gone...

No, woman, no cry
No, woman, no cry
Woman, little darling, say, don't shed no tears
No, woman, no cry
Yeah

Little darling don’t shed no tears
No, woman, no cry
Little sister, don’t shed no tears,
No, woman, no cry


Paul McCartney, under some pressure from John Lennon I'd say, denied later on that the song Let It Be was about the Blessed Virgin Mary. Riiiight. Sure...

Yes, his own mother's name was Mary, but methinks Sir Paul doth protest too much... I have a feeling that he, determined to do things his own way as usual, went through his own Catholic spirituality phase while the others were messing around with eastern mysticism.

And if co-opting Bob & the Wailers for the this post is too much of a stretch, I'll close with Gerard Manley Hopkins.



The Blessed Virgin Compared To The Air We Breathe

Wild air, world-mothering air,
Nestling me everywhere,
That each eyelash or hair
Girdles; goes home betwixt
The fleeciest, frailest-flixed
Snowflake; that ’s fairly mixed
With, riddles, and is rife
In every least thing’s life;
This needful, never spent,
And nursing element;
My more than meat and drink,
My meal at every wink;
This air, which, by life’s law,
My lung must draw and draw
Now but to breathe its praise,
Minds me in many ways
Of her who not only
Gave God’s infinity
Dwindled to infancy
Welcome in womb and breast,
Birth, milk, and all the rest
But mothers each new grace
That does now reach our race—
Mary Immaculate,
Merely a woman, yet
Whose presence, power is
Great as no goddess’s
Was deemèd, dreamèd; who
This one work has to do—
Let all God’s glory through,
God’s glory which would go
Through her and from her flow
Off, and no way but so.

I say that we are wound
With mercy round and round
As if with air: the same
Is Mary, more by name.
She, wild web, wondrous robe,
Mantles the guilty globe,
Since God has let dispense
Her prayers his providence:
Nay, more than almoner,
The sweet alms’ self is her
And men are meant to share
Her life as life does air.

If I have understood,
She holds high motherhood
Towards all our ghostly good
And plays in grace her part
About man’s beating heart,
Laying, like air’s fine flood,
The deathdance in his blood;
Yet no part but what will
Be Christ our Saviour still.
Of her flesh he took flesh:
He does take fresh and fresh,
Though much the mystery how,
Not flesh but spirit now
And makes, O marvellous!
New Nazareths in us,
Where she shall yet conceive
Him, morning, noon, and eve;
New Bethlems, and he born
There, evening, noon, and morn—
Bethlem or Nazareth,
Men here may draw like breath
More Christ and baffle death;
Who, born so, comes to be
New self and nobler me
In each one and each one
More makes, when all is done,
Both God’s and Mary’s Son.

Again, look overhead
How air is azurèd;
O how! nay do but stand
Where you can lift your hand
Skywards: rich, rich it laps
Round the four fingergaps.
Yet such a sapphire-shot,
Charged, steepèd sky will not
Stain light. Yea, mark you this:
It does no prejudice.
The glass-blue days are those
When every colour glows,
Each shape and shadow shows.
Blue be it: this blue heaven
The seven or seven times seven
Hued sunbeam will transmit
Perfect, not alter it.
Or if there does some soft,
On things aloof, aloft,
Bloom breathe, that one breath more
Earth is the fairer for.
Whereas did air not make
This bath of blue and slake
His fire, the sun would shake,
A blear and blinding ball
With blackness bound, and all
The thick stars round him roll
Flashing like flecks of coal,
Quartz-fret, or sparks of salt,
In grimy vasty vault.

So God was god of old:
A mother came to mould
Those limbs like ours which are
What must make our daystar
Much dearer to mankind;
Whose glory bare would blind
Or less would win man’s mind.
Through her we may see him
Made sweeter, not made dim,
And her hand leaves his light
Sifted to suit our sight.

Be thou then, O thou dear
Mother, my atmosphere;
My happier world, wherein
To wend and meet no sin;
Above me, round me lie
Fronting my froward eye
With sweet and scarless sky;
Stir in my ears, speak there
Of God’s love, O live air,
Of patience, penance, prayer:
World-mothering air, air wild,
Wound with thee, in thee isled,
Fold home, fast fold thy child.

12 comments:

cowboyangel said...

I grew up going to San Jose Catholic Church in Austin, and we used to sing "Let It Be" during mass. I also remember singing "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Ah, the 1970s.

I like how Ringo is the most prominent Beatle after Paul on "Let It Be," yet he's the only person who doesn't get a close-up in the video! Even Billy Preston gets a close up!

Nice to see you posting poems. That's a long one by Hopkins. I'm so used to his shorter works.

Jeff said...

Thanks william,

we used to sing "Let It Be" during mass. I also remember singing "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Ah, the 1970s.

Ah, but I'll bet you never sang 'No Woman, No Cry'. During Mass, that is.

crystal said...

Nice post! I like that painting, never saw it before.

Did you see the post at dotcommonweal about the immaculate conception? I was thinking about writing about it too later today.

Jeff said...

Hi Crystal,

Thanks for pointing that dotCommonweal article out. That was pretty good.

Liam said...

Great poem! Hopkins' poetry is so intensely physical in sound, so close to the blood, that it's perfect for him to write about the Incarnation.

The folk group at my Catholic high school used to sing "Let it Be" at school Mass. I used to ask the teacher who led the group if I could do the guitar solo, but he always said no.

cowboyangel said...

Jeff,

No, Don't think Marley had filtered down to folk mass at that point. I did, however, see a 4th or 5th-grade choir sing "Three Little Birds" at a Brooklyn elementary. I thought that was pretty cool.

cowboyangel said...

Liam,

Hopkins' poetry is so intensely physical in sound, so close to the blood, that it's perfect for him to write about the Incarnation.

Good point.

Maria said...

I've always thought that "Mother Mary" in Let it Be was inspired by the Virgin Mary. I do agree with your observations about Paul McCartney though. I don't think it was cool back then to be so open about religion and faith. I think he was pretty lapsed but I think if you're born a Catholic that sticks with you no matter if you practice it or not.

I'm always fascinated where Catholicism creeps in in music and literature. You can almost always tell if a musician or a writer was or is a Catholic.

I have a whole post running around in my head about the subject.

Jeff said...

Liam and William,

You guys must have been in very liberal parishes. Boston must be quite different. They wouldn't dream of letting someone play 'Let it Be' at a Mass, even a Teen Mass.

Liam,

Do you play the axe, in a manner of speaking?

Jeff said...

Maria,

Yes, definitely, there is a tonality that certain artists have, and dead giveaways in some of the things they write. I'll be interested to see what you come up with.

Garpu said...

Interesting song choices. :) I think every generation has to come to terms with Mary in some way. A part of me wishes the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe was a bigger deal in other parishes. (It certainly is in the southwest.)

Jeff said...

Jen,

I'm not sure what it's going to be for this generation of teenagers. Anne was at a CCD Mass the other night and had to go to town on them for texting during it. :-)

Our Lady of Guadalupe, Patron Saint of the Americas! Shame that we don't pick up on that like they do in the Southwest.