Burnt Norton

Burning Flax straw east of Rosthern

And all is always now.

 Words strain,

Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,

Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,

Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,

Will not stay still.

 Shrieking voices

Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,

Always assail them.

 The Word in the desert

Is most attacked by voices of temptation,

The crying shadow in the funeral dance,

The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

(From Four Quartets 1: Burnt Norton by T.S. Eliot)

It surpasses belief; that one man could so dominate the political dialogue around the entire world as President Donald Trump has been able to do. But here we are. Donald Trump is first subject of conversations virtually everywhere. Some voices support fervently the far-reaching, brash executive orders coming out of the White House; some think more broadly and say, “let’s wait and see.” But shouts of derision and mockery dominate: “He’s a demagogic, narcissistic, ignorant phony who’s managed to usurp the throne,” they say.

            The astonishment that conservative Christians were able to look past what they knew about the man’s faults—and cast their votes for him anyway—has already been aired in any number of places. I’ve no interest in repeating the obvious. It’s a useless exercise; we’re into a time of “alternative facts” and should the king prove to have no clothes in the end, well, it will be time to point out that liberals stole his pants and shirt. End of story.

            But I’ve been raised in a Christian denomination that must (with all others) consider it’s place in a world that emanates from the imaginations of men long schooled in the desire for power and control, or, as Trump has said, “The world’s a mess. I will fix it. It’s what I do; I fix things.” The shape of that envisioned world historically has been characterized by a downward slide into megalomania, brutality and intolerance. I don’t need to list the drivers of historical fascism; we all know their names. We all know those stories.

            I am part of a Syrian-refugee-sponsoring group. From that vantage point—and contemplating the attempt at blocking Syrian refugees into the USA—it’s becoming more and more clear to me that the “wall-building way” is something we need to counter with all our strength. I’ve seen how refugees “phone home,” how they post aspects of their lives in Canada on Facebook, how they express with so much gratitude the generosity of their Canadian hosts. How could there ever be a better, more effective way to build tolerance among different faiths, cultures, than that?

            We’ve expended so much militarily in efforts that only served to break further the bonds of interdependence, that nourished anger, hatred and prejudice.

            Meanwhile, these are primary principals Jesus Christ proclaimed: love your enemies, do good to those who persecute you. Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit those who are sick or in prison. If a Roman soldier orders you to carry his pack the prescribed one mile, add an extra mile. This is not a recipe for self-flagellation; it’s the only road to peace and good will. It always works; its opposite always fails.

            Where Anabaptist Christians’ ought to engage in this chaotic time is not in doubt. It’s as obvious as peanut butter on a white pillow case. We dare not side with the fearful, the angry, the self-serving, self-preserving heresies we see in certain denominations, in some individuals around us.

The Word in the desert

Is most attacked by voices of temptation,

The crying shadow in the funeral dance,

The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

(Eliot’s poetry is heavily into symbolism and allusion. When I read this stanza in Burnt Norton, I recall that it was written at a time (1930s) when enthusiasm for a fascist option ran high in Europe. “The Word in the desert,” is a clear reference to Jesus facing off against the “devil” in the wilderness. With what did the “devil” distract him? Well, with tempting offers (you know the wilderness allegories—Moses, John the Baptist, Jesus). And with what are we tempted away from the “Word” these days? I have some difficulty interpreting this satisfactorily in Eliot, but the raw fear portrayed in “the crying shadow in the funeral dance,” along with the deep grief in “the loud lament of the disconsolate chimera,” presented in beautiful, poetic lines speak volumes to me of the temptations of the age; we must overcome these temptations. To learn more about Eliot’s Christian viewpoint in Burnt Norton, click here.)