T.S. Eliot's Dark Night

In undergraduate school, I read "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot. Didn't understand it a bit. I was sure I didn't like the poet and vowed never to read anything else by the man.

But then he ends up on my required reading list for comprehensive exams in graduate school. I had no choice. I simply had to read (and be able to write literary analysis of) a collection of poetry called Four Quartets.

With more than a little resentment, I searched for the book at Borders Bookstore and forked over good money for it. Very quickly, I realized that I actually do like the poet. And here is a little taste of Eliot just for you.

Four Quartets, by T.S. Eliot
-From “East Coker III”

I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness;
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing façade are all being rolled away—

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness
the dancing. (112-127)

***If you are reading Four Quartets for a class, I recommend reading it with Thomas Howard's book Dove Descending. I came across the book many years after graduate school ended. Too late for me to benefit from it academically, but I enjoyed it immensely on a personal level.

T.S. Eliot's Dark Night

Preacher's Daughter

It seems like my dad always waited until nightfall to realize that he’d left his Bible on the podium at church. I enjoyed having a minister for a father, except at that moment in time. He’d casually lift his eyes from a bedtime snack and say, “Why don’t you run down to the church, Sis, and get my Bible for me?” I’d roll my eyes and groan, “Oh, Dad.” The idea of going into a church at night – by myself – just to fetch his Bible was not my idea of fun. It sounded more like a good way to see a ghost or something. If I hesitated further, Dad would smile and add, “If you do it, I’ll let you be my daughter.” After more eye-rolling, I’d pull myself out of the chair and trudge down the road to a darkened Presbyterian church and let myself inside.

Suddenly, I would shift gears, dashing full speed through the narthex and frantically feel along the far wall for light switches, the whole time praying, “Please, no angels. Please, no angels.” Then, I’d run like a maniac to the platform, now praying that the Bible would be right where Dad had indicated so that I would lose no time to a search effort, and finally, Bible in hand, I’d run back down the aisle, hitting the light switch in one fluid motion, as I passed through the narthex and out the church doors. I would barely drop the pace as I headed for home.
Now that I’m older some things have changed. For starters, I’m Catholic now. If you look closely at my conversion, it’s almost like Our Heavenly Father asked me to do the same thing my earthly father used to ask of me.

Sis, I want you to walk down this road where you’ll find my Word Made Flesh. At that point, I probably rolled my eyes a bit. I know I asked the Lord, Why me? Why not ask my sister or brother? Or start with my husband, at least. The idea of becoming Catholic wasn’t an easy road to go down alone.

Then, the Lord smiled and said, “I’ll let you be my daughter.” This time it was no joking matter. I reminded Him that I would probably make mistakes and look like an idiot sometimes as I fumble for the lights. But I want to please You, Lord. I want to follow You, wherever the journey leads me.

Conversion is like that.

The Father sends us on a mission. Sometimes fear of the unknown makes us want to say no, but we submit anyway. We dash in and dash out, seeking the first light switch we find, hoping to make it through the journey without experiencing anything that is too life-altering, when the way of real obedience is to walk at the Lord’s pace, even if it is through the dark night.

Preacher's Daughter