Ne had that apple taken been
That apple taken been,
Ne had never our ladie,
A'been heav'ne queen.*
Blessed be the time
That apple taken was,
Therefore we moun** singen
Deo gracias!
The first week of Advent, the A.M. Project thought about how we long and need our way into Advent. This second week, we'll be thinking about: what helps? What helps us not just get lost in the necessary crying out during Advent; all our rightful needing and longing?
Adam Lay Ybounden is a medieval poem I learned in college, and it's one of those theologies that makes me squirm a little: it basically argues that the"Fall" in Eden (eating the forbidden fruit from the tree) was a good thing, because if it hadn't happened, Mary would never have borne Jesus Christ. Given the traditional concept that humanity's Fall brought all sin, suffering and death into the world (though not exactly my view), this still sounds like a pretty bum deal -- all respect to Mary and Jesus, of course.
But listen again: what I hear when I listen more carefully is PLAY. The poet is playing with the stories of the Bible, turning things on their ear to see what shakes out, and saying, "See? Look at it from this direction!" You don't have to agree with the affirmation to see the benefit: it makes us look twice. And maybe, if we dare to affirm that there's something wonderful about Jesus' story (virgin birth and all?) that's so meaningful, so beautiful, so valuable that it would move a poet so many hundreds of years ago to write "thanks be to God" to whatever set this story in motion... maybe it can amaze us, too.
Poem/Song Lyrics HERE
We should keep wrestling with our traditional theologies, especially noting the ways in which they have "gone wrong" in history, furthering bad practice, harmful attitudes or false justice in the world. But maybe we shouldn't throw out our ability to play with these same ideas, upend and re-tell these same stories, filled with strange God-in-flesh babies and virgin births. Maybe there's something in a slightly-embarrassing drawer of Church theology that might offer us a strange grace... an insight, a "huh!" of surprise or delight... that makes it worth another look. In the end, maybe it's our ability to play that will save us from despair, not only in the Church, but in upending our views on the world, looking again, and playing with the myriad possibilities of change and Creation.
"Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly..."
- Colossians 3:16
May we wrestle and struggle and ponder our way through these days, calling out pitfalls and errors, but 'being not afraid' to play, to mine the richness of tradition and story for insight, truth and grace.
- Anna
I've sung this poem three times - all three as a part of Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols (which is an incredible piece of music any time of year, and is absolutely essential at Christmas). The first time I encountered this was at Westminster, when we did it with even more "olde" English pronunciation than this recording (which, if anyone is confused, is not the Britten setting, which, as I mentioned, everyone should hear). This little theological gem blew my mind as well.
ReplyDeleteI think it's another resurrection story. The Fall symbolizes the human descent into sin, pain, shame and death. It symbolizes that oh-so-human inability to accept our blessings. It symbolizes our lost connection to our Creator and to ourselves as Created beings. It also symbolizes that most deeply, dearly human of traits: curiosity. I know it may be heretical, but I've always thought that God didn't know what S/He was getting herself into when she made us. Really? You point out one tree in the whole Garden, tell us to leave it alone, and you're ACTUALLY naive enough to think that we'll just put our blinders on and ignore it? Lord, if you think that, I've got a bridge to sell you (or will have in a few thousand years).
So then, after we've spent thousands of years wandering around Creation, being curious and cruel and faithless and stupid, and after God has threatened and cajoled and destroyed and promised and forgiven and ignored and returned and saved again and again, what happens? God says, "well - there's clearly something I'm missing here, because I just can't get these people to do right. I've gotta take a closer look." And She does. She digs herself right into a poor girl's womb to become incarnate - to get born, to grow, to learn, to love, to hurt, to die - all to understand us better.
If a few thousand years of us humans being our typical, tragic, heroic, flawed selves is what it took for God to love us that much - to be willing to live through THIS, just to get closer to us - I give thanks for that, too. God made us. She may not have understood us when she made us, but I think She's got a better idea now. Thank Jesus.