The glory of God

"The glory of God is a human being fully alive."

-St. Irenaeus of Lyon

Richard Hooker on Prayer, The Laws of Ecclesial Polity 5.23; thanks Aaron!

On others what more easily, and yet what more fruitfully bestowed than our prayers? If we give counsel, they are the simpler only that need it; if alms, the poor only are relieved; but by prayer we do good to all. And whereas every other duty besides is but to shew itself as time and opportunity require, for this all times are convenient: when we are not able to do any other thing for men's behoof, when through maliciousness or unkindness they vouchsafe not to accept any other good at our hands, prayer is that which we always have in our power to bestow, and they never in theirs to refuse. Wherefore 'God forbid,' saith Samuel, speaking unto a most unthankful people, a people weary of the benefit of his most virtuous government over them, 'God forbid that I should sin against the Lord, and cease to pray for you.' It is the first thing wherewith a righteous life beginneth, and the last wherewith it doth end.

Dante meets Piccarda in the Sphere of the Moon: from Canto III of Dante's Paradiso, John Ciardi's translation

Dante, after climbing down through Hell and being cleansed of sin in Purgatory, finally ascends to the first sphere of the Heavens: the Moon. He sees dim traceries of human faces and takes them to be reflections. Beatrice, his guide, explains that they are the souls of the Inconstant, those who made holy vows and broke them. She encourages him to greet them; he turns to the one who looks most eager, and speaks:

"O well-created soul, who in the sun

of the eternal life drinks in the sweetness

which, until tasted, is beyond conception;

great would be my joy would you confide

to my eager mind your earthly name and fate."

That soul with smiling eyes, at once replied:

"The love that fills us will no more permit

hindrance to a just wish than does that Love

that wills all of Its court to be like It.

I was a virgin sister there below,

and if you search your memory with care,

despite my greater beauty, you will know

I am Piccarda, and I am placed here

among these other souls of blessedness

to find my blessedness in the slowest sphere.

Our wishes, which can have no wish to be

but in the pleasure of the Holy Ghost,

rejoice in being formed to His decree.

And this low-seeming post which we are given

is ours because we broke, or, in some part,

slighted the vows we offered up to Heaven."

And I then: "Something inexpressibly

divine shines in your face, subliming you

beyond your image in my memory:

therefore I found you difficult to place;

but now, with the assistance of your words,

I find the memory easier to retrace.

But tell me, please: do you who are happy here

have any wish to rise to higher station,

to see more, or to make yourselves more dear?"

She smiled, as did the spirits at her side;

then, turning to me with such joy she seemed

to burn with the first fire of love, replied:

"Brother, the power of love, which is our bliss,

calms all our will. What we desire, we have.

There is in us no other thirst than this.

Were we to wish for any higher sphere,

then our desires would not be in accord

with the high will of Him who wills us here;

and if love is our whole being, and if you weigh

love's nature well, then you will see that discord

can have no place among these circles. Nay,

the essence of this blessed state of being

is to hold all our will within His will,

whereby our wills are one and all-agreeing.

And so the posts we stand from sill to sill

throughout this realm, please all the realm as much

as they please Him who wills us to His will.

In His will is our peace. It is that sea

to which all moves, all that Itself creates

and Nature bears through all Eternity."

Then it was clear to me that everywhere

in Heaven is Paradise, though the Perfect Grace

does not rain down alike on all souls there.

For all who lie awake at night...

To Sleep by William Wordsworth

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,

One after one; the sound of rain, and bees

Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;

I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie

Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies

Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees;

And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay

And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:

So do not let me wear tonight away:

Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?

Come, blessed barrier between day and day,

Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

Achilles' and Briseis' lament over the body of Patroclus, from the Iliad translated by Samuel Butler

The whole night the Achaeans mourned Patroclus, and [Achilles] the son of Peleus led them in their lament. He laid his murderous hands upon the breast of his comrade, groaning again and again as a bearded lion when a man who was chasing deer has robbed him of his young in some dense forest; when the lion comes back he is furious, and searches dingle and dell to track the hunter if he can find him, for he is mad with rage - even so with many a sigh did Achilles speak among the Myrmidons saying, 'Alas! vain were the words with which I cheered the hero Menœtius in his own house; I said that I would bring his brave son back again to Opöeis after he had sacked Ilius [Troy] and taken his share of the spoils - but Jove does not give all men their heart's desire. The same soil shall be reddened here at Troy by the blood of us both, for I too shall never be welcomed home by the old knight Peleus, nor by my mother Thetis, but even in this place shall the earth cover me. Nevertheless, O Patroclus, now that I am left behind you, I will not bury you, till I have brought hither the head and armour of mighty Hector who has slain you. Twelve noble sons of Trojans will I behead before your bier to avenge you; till I have done so you shall lie as you are by the ships, and fair women of Troy and Dardanus, whom we have taken with spear and strength of arm when we sacked men's goodly cities, shall weep over you both night and day.' ...

Briseis, fair as Venus, when she saw the mangled body of Patroclus, flung herself upon it and cried aloud, tearing her breast, her neck, and her lovely face with both her hands. Beautiful as a goddess she wept and said, 'Patroclus, dearest friend, when I went hence I left you living; I return, O prince, to find you dead; thus do fresh sorrows multiply upon me one after the other. I saw him to whom my father and mother married me, cut down before our city, and my three own dear brothers perished with him on the selfsame day; but you, Patroclus, even when Achilles slew my husband and sacked the city of noble Mynes, told me that I was not to weep, for you said you would make Achilles marry me, and take me back with him to Phthia, where we should have a wedding feast among the Myrmidons. You were always kind to me and I shall never cease to grieve for you.'

She wept as she spoke, and the women joined in her lament - making as though their tears were for Patroclus, but in truth each was weeping for her own sorrows.