I've been a fan of John Donne since college days when Dr. W. Lindsay Hislop taught my English literature classes in the 1980s. Dr. Hislop instilled a love for the English language and its ancient history in his students, wherein I became a lover of the works of John Donne, Ben Jonson, and George Herbert.
What creative thinkers, these expressive Anglo-catholic philosophers, these witty writers of verse! Works like George Herbert's "The Altar" and "Easter Wings" are so inventive, it boggles the modern mind. Ben Jonson's "Hymn to God the Father" is not unlike Herbert's "Altar."
But Donne is my favorite of these three. His own "Hymn to God the Father" shows his ineffable wit in the use of innuendo and pun (which happens to rhyme with "done" and "Donne," and plays on the idea of the "Son" being metaphoric of the "sun"). Called "the father of Metaphysical poetry," Donne wrote his philosophy in religious passion to His Creator. He's my kind of guy. Like King David, he didn't do things half-baked what he intended for religious devotion to his God (see 2 Samuel 24:24, in context).
My favorite of Donne's works is his Italian (iambic pentameter) Holy Sonnet XIV, in which he goes beyond innuendo to double entendre. It's a provocatively earthy piece, not unlike St. Paul, in his epistle to the Ephesians, referring to marriage as reflective of Christ's relationship to the Church. Donne is more explicit:
Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, youDonne correlates the perilous passion of the desperately deceitful human heart to the mystery of Christ and His bride, for whom He laid down His holy life and pure heart in violent Passion. Indeed, God has a human heart subject to breaking. His Spirit can be deeply grieved.
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearley I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe,
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish mee.
St. Paul wrote about this seeming dichotomy of flesh and spirit in his letter to the Romans (chapter 7), wherein he explains that the war is resolved in the peaceful union of flesh and spirit by Christ Himself, Who in His incarnation, became flesh for our sake (chapter 8). The dichotomy between flesh and spirit is not real. Indeed, the spirit may now rule over the passions of the flesh because Christ came "in the likeness of sinful flesh, for sin: condemning sin in the flesh." In Christ, our flesh is filled with His Spirit, and "we are freed from the law of sin and death... into the glorious liberty of the children of God... in hope."
I was reminded of this poem tonight by means of a letter from a friend, a member of my wife's family. She reminded me that God heals the brokenhearted. Indeed, it is when I "rip" my heart and "lay it bear" before the Creator, Who "made Man in His own image — male and female, He created them" — that we may be truly restored to our original purpose as His image-bearers. What is ugly and thorny from the haughtiness of the human heart — when broken — can be molded and formed into a fleshy, gentle, loveable, and beautifully human altar upon which the hot flame of holy passion consumes the sin we offer to Him.
