Words of power

Whenever I’m able to, I attend services at historic churches. T. S. Eliot gave voice to my feelings when he says in Four Quartets, “Little Gidding,” that:

If you came this way,

Taking any route, starting from anywhere,

At any time or at any season,

It would always be the same: you would have to put off

Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,

Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity

Or carry report. You are here to kneel

Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more

Than an order of words, the conscious occupation

Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

They can tell you, being dead: the communication

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Here, the intersection of the timeless moment

Is England and nowhere. Never and always.

You can find “the intersection of the timeless moment” in the sacred places of the world, whatever they may be: churches, temples, and mosques that are built on top of springs or wells; or towns built on ley lines; or in ancient forests or caves. Sacred places have one thing in common, their sites have been blessed by the thousands of ancestral people who have worshipped and praised there before us. So much concentrated worship must be a benediction conferred upon the atoms in that spot and I believe we breathe and absorb those atoms when we visit quietly and with open hearts. The Romans called this spirit the genius loci, the spirit of place.

(Conversely, when we visit sites of atrocities, such as Auschwitz, we feel steeped in cold misery. There, the very atoms that make up the stones and rocks are impregnated with despair and suffering.)

Yesterday, Whitsunday, I attended the monthly service at Foulden village church constructed in 1786 on a medieval site where a meeting of English and Scottish commissioners in 1587 followed the execution of Mary Queen of Scots. The church stands next to a Tithe Barn, one of only two left in Scotland.

The service was about Pentecost, the birth of the Holy Spirit. This great wind rushed through the disciples and enabled communication even between those who didn’t speak the same language. Communication is pretty important to authors and Romantic poets longed for this inspiration, this Muse which they saw as coming with the wind to inspire them. Remember Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind” when he implores the wind to “Make me thy lyre”? In that poem he is also longing to embody the wind and have it: “Drive my dead thoughts over the universe / Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth.”

Of course, to in-spire is to be alive, to take in breath, and from the Latin inspirare, just as to ex-pire is to breathe out, to sigh one’s last breath, from the Latin exspirare. As the living, we need to be in-spired in every way we can.

Interestingly, the sermon mentioned enthusiasm as a religious word (from the Greek enthous) meaning to be possessed by a god and thus able to inspire others. I’ve always been inspired by the enthusiasms of others, whether they be teachers or not, so this word pleases me.

So, going to church gave me lots of inspiration and time to reflect on words.