Christmas Solemn Chapter
On the morning of Christmas Eve, the community gathers after Mass in our chapter hall for Solemn Chapter. Solemn Chapter takes place twice a year: on the vigil of the Solemnity of the Annunciation and on the vigil of Christmas. The Christmas Chapter begins with the chantress singing the Christmas martyrology proclaiming the feast of the birth of Christ. You can listen to a recording from several years ago here. After the singing of the proclamation, the Sisters make the venia (the Dominican prostration). The ceremony concludes with a sermon by the Prioress or another Sister appointed by her. Below, you can find the text of this year’s sermon, given by Sister Maria Julia.
Because the poem which Sister reflected on is under copyright, we will only post a short selection from the poem. The poem can be found in full in the poetry section at the back of the breviary, or you could look for the poem at your local library.
…
Let in the cold,
Let in the wet,
Let in the loneliness,
…Oh how can virgin fingers weave
A covering for the void,
How can my fearful heart conceive
Gigantic solitude?
…Fearful is my virgin heart
And frail my virgin form,
And must I then take pity on
The raging of the storm
…Gentle must my fingers be
And pitiful my heart
Since I must bind in human form
A living power so great,
…Let in the wound
Let in the pain,
Let in your child tonight.
We’re going to sample a poem for our reflection today. The poem was written by Kathleen Raine, and it’s called Northumbrian Sequence IV. Before I read it, I’ll give a few remarks just to help you orient yourself in the poem. The person speaking in the poem is Mary, and the poem is a sort of fiat. She is allowing God to be born of her and she does so because she recognizes the tragic state of the world. The author shows the corruption of the world not by describing moral evils but through image after image of evils mostly in nature. We will only reflect on sections of this poem, but the whole thing can be found in the back of the Blue Breviary.
In this poem, we have this conflict between the fragility and humility of Mary and the enormity of evil in the world and the magnitude of her task. What is this fearful task that Mary is up against? This poem tells us, it is to take pity. “Take pity on the raging of the storm.” The acceptance of bearing the Christ child is bound up with compassion on the world according to this poem. In what way is this an enormous task? It seems that part of our human nature, fallen or otherwise, is to be limited in perspective. Mary, though a finite human being like us, is asked to consider God’s vast creation in bearing the Son of God. Furthermore, in order to have pity in any real way, one needs to allow oneself to feel the weight of pity. Often it means, in some sense, to be hurt. And Mary will be hurt in her compassion for us and for her Son. She will watch her Son suffer and die because He bore our sins.
And yet the heartbeat of this poem is “Let in, Let in, Let in.” It’s curious that Mary in this poem seems to insist that she be frail. “Gentle must my fingers be and pitiful my heart,” the poem says. She is not trying to match power for power. She is not sizing up the enemy and bulking up for battle. Her way is one of surrender. Only in this surrender can she hope to accomplish what is set before her.
And in the Blessed Mother’s acceptance of her motherhood to the Divine Son, she is promised peace. “With all the violence of desire, desiring this my peace,” the poem says. And that line stands out because it’s juxtaposed with all this tempestuous, fitful imagery. Yet that promise is in the poem and the promise is foretold in Isaiah: Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.” (Is 11:6)
It seems there is a connection here with the contemplative life. The high calling of a woman bound to Christ is this loving acceptance of Christ out of compassion for a world that is without Him. “Let in, let in, let in,” is the heartbeat of the contemplative. Let in Christ so that world might be healed by Him. To steal an idea from the Constitutions, the nuns imitate St. Dominic in holding sinners, the down-trodden, and the afflicted in the inmost sanctuary of their compassion.[1] And yet this task too is frightfully enormous compared to our human weakness and our own limited perpective. We may be asking ourselves, though probably in different words, “How can virgin fingers weave a covering for the void? How can my fearful heart conceive gigantic solitude?” St. Paul tells us, “We hold this treasure in earthen vessels that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.” (2 Cor 4:7) We must let in Christ even though He may ask enormous things of us. And one enormous thing He may ask of us, is to be our peace. Whatever may be happening in our hearts and in our lives, whatever resentment or burdens we hold onto, Christ asks to be let in.
[1] LCM 35:I – “In the cloister the nuns devote themselves totally to God and perpetuate that singular gift which the blessed Father had of bearing sinners, the down-trodden and the afflicted in the inmost sanctuary of his compassion.”