Eugene Peterson once pointed it out, that the first Christian ever to have been formally called a “theologian” was John of Patmos. It’s true: the Greek term they gave him was theologos—one who speaks “God-words.” And Peterson humbly points it out that, as a theologos, John’s great contribution to the life of the church was that fascinating piece of unparalleled, theological poetry, the Book of Revelation. And despite the centuries-old tendency to read the book of Revelation as though it were simply God’s survival manual for the apocalypse, at its heart it is exactly that: a poem. It’s a marvelously, majestically, mysteriously theological poem, to be sure, but still for all that, a poem.
I have always found it both sobering and inspiring to think that, whatever else he was, the first Christian theologian was a poet. Sobering, because so little of the work I do in the discharge of my daily duties as a pastor is actually poetic. There are plenty of God words to be spoken, of course, but most of them are of the practical or the pedantic kind. I preach; I propound; I pray. But very seldom does the moment seem to call for an unequivocal, unapologetic poem, per se.
This strikes me as especially curious, given the fact that such vast swaths of the Bible were written in verse. From the vivid praise of the Psalter to the visionary oracles of the prophets, from the dark debates in the Book of Jo to the sensual Song of Solomon, I mean, the authors of the Good Book seemed to think that good poetry played a central role in opening the heart to God, and in hearing from him in return. Even the Master himself, the Living Word who gave us the Beatitudes and inspired Mary’s Magnificat, seems to have been perfectly at ease among the arresting rhythms and piercing imagery of a well-turned line of poetry.
It’s not simply sobering, however, to realize how important a role good poetry played in the spiritual lives of those first Christians; it is also inspiring. Anyone who has agonized over the best way to say it precisely, what God was up to in a given moment of their lives—anyone who has stumbled unexpectedly across a metaphor so perfect it untangled a knot in their hearts they didn’t even know was there until it had opened—anyone who has had a line of verse flare suddenly in their spirits and so illuminate an otherwise impenetrably dark night of the soul—anyone, that is, who has ever had just the right words at just the right moment coalesce beautifully with something God was intimately doing in their lives, will be encouraged to know that the Christian faith has always made ample room for good poetry in its vision of the spiritual life.
Which is perhaps one of the reasons the music of U2 still holds a special place in my heart, some 40 years after first hearing them play. Despite the cliches that dog the band—their pompous self-righteousness, their predictability, their over-dependence on slick production at the expense of musicality—and to whatever degree these critiques are valid, still their music contains some of the most evocative poetry I’ve ever encountered in a rock-music context. In some ways, Bono was to the 80s and 90s what Bob Dylan was to the 60s and 70s, but the comparison falls short. I’ve always heard, in Bono’s lyrics, something both more spare and more expansive than anything I’ve encountered in a Dylan tune.
A few samples from the repository of U2 lyrics that echo regularly in my heart might prove the point:
We turn away to face the cold enduring chill
As day begs the night for mercy, love
A sun so bright it leaves no shadows
Only scars carved into stone on the face of the earth(One Tree Hill, The Joshua Tree)
I remember, when we could sleep on stones
Now we lie together in whispers and moans
When I was all messed up and I heard opera in my head
Your love was a light bulb hanging over my bed(Ultraviolet Baby, Achtung Baby)
And I have no compass
And I have no map
And I have no reasons
No reasons to get back(Zooropa, Zooropa)
You gotta cry without weepingI realize there’s a high degree of subjectivity when it comes to things like song lyrics. What speaks to one heart is not necessarily guaranteed to speak to another. Even so, the poignancy and pathos of lines like these, I hope, need little pointing out. I can still recall hearing some of these words being sung for the first time; the sound was like that of the click of a key in a lock, opening a door into a space in my heart I had always sensed was there but didn’t know the way to. Even today, the opening line of “Where the Streets Have No Name,” or the outro of “The Fly,” and many parts of many other U2 songs still have that effect.
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice
You know I took the poison from the poison stream
Then I floated out of here(Running to a Standstill, The Joshua Tree)
One of the running themes in this series on the music of U2 has been the question of the band’s faith and/or spirituality: is U2 a Christian band? I’ve explored that from a variety of angles, suggesting that, though they have always held themselves aloof to the label, in some ways they are more “Christian” than many of their explicitly, evangelically “Christian” counterparts. I won’t rehash all those arguments, but I will suggest here, that perhaps this is most evident in the poetry—the deep yearning and profound imagery—of their lyrics. There are wonderfully poetic Christian songwriters, too, to be sure. Michael Card and John Mark McMillan are Christian lyricists I think of who stand on a similar level as Bono when it comes to using words, by turns, as gemstones and slingstones both. But in my experience, artists like these are the exception, not the rule.
Perhaps, though, if we took a cue from Bono, and rediscovered or reclaimed the power of well-chosen words to minister to the heart and glorify the Creator who made it, we may be pressing into one of the most Christian endeavors of all. After all, not for nothing did the Psalmist declare: “My heart is stirred by a noble theme, as I compose my verses for the king.”
0 comments:
Post a Comment