Wounded I sing, tormented I indite,
Thrown down I fall right into a bed, and rest:
Sorrow hath chang’d its note: such is his will,
Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best.
For well he knows, if but one grief and smart
Among my many had his full profession,
Sure it could carry with it ev’n my heart,
And each would run until they found a bier
To fetch the body; each being attributable to grief.
But he hath spoil’d the race; and giv’n to anguish
One of Joys coats, ’ticing it with relief
To linger in me, and together languish.
I live to shew his power, who once did bring
My joys to weep, and now my griefs to sing.
“WOUNDED” and “tormented” are very strong words on this poem, “Joseph’s Coat”. They indicate the intensity of the pain being experienced. Yet the poet proclaims that even when wounded he sings, even when tormented he indites. The word “indite” has for us an accusatory tone, but in Herbert’s time it meant to place into words, as we see in Milton, and Psalm 45 within the Book of Common Prayer: “My heart is inditing of matter.” This suffering is so debilitating that every one he can do is fall back into his bed. But there, “Sorrow hath chang’d its note.”
Herbert was fascinated by the way in which music could bring about change, turn feelings into something else. Here, grief and hurt are given a recent note. If left to themselves, they’d have swept his heart together with them, after which each heart and body would race to the grave. “But he hath spoil’d the race.” Anguish has been given a recent clothing, Joseph’s coat of many colors, one among them being joy. Joy entices grief to remain and linger quite than hurry to the grave. So it’s that, as happiness can quickly turn to weeping, so grief can begin to sing; for all is throughout the excellent care of divine power and wisdom.
EVERYONE’s life is a combination of fine fortune and bad, happiness and sadness, pleasure and pain. As William Blake put it in “Auguries of Innocence”:
Joy and woe are woven advantageous
A clothing for the soul divine
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
Herbert calls this clothing “Joseph’s coat”, the purpose being that Joseph was the beloved son: “Now Israel loved Joseph greater than all his children, because he was the son of his old age: and he made him a coat of many colors” (Genesis 37.3 KJV).
Although this mixture of joy and woe often doesn’t feel just like the product of a sensible and loving power, it’s in truth the clothing of 1 who’s deeply loved.
FOR essentially the most part, we associate song with happiness. We sing once we are cheerful. How can we sing once we are down within the dumps? Clearly, it must be a unique form of song, and there’s, after all, much music that expresses sadness. It is just not helpful to attempt to force oneself, let alone others, to be cheerful after they are feeling just the other. That’s why platitudes about clouds with a silver lining, calls to “cheer up”, and a set rictus smile grate.
During the exile in Babylon within the sixth century BCE, the Psalmist asks, “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” (Psalm 137.4). He knew he couldn’t sing songs of jubilation, however the psalm itself is a song to the Lord, albeit in a tragic key.
Irrespective of 1’s own personal mood at any particular time, anyone who’s sensitive may have a way of sadness, anger, and sometimes despair in regards to the state of the world, with all its tragedy, suffering, cruelty, and injustice. Believers may perhaps say, “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” For some, the one answer lies within the Jesus Prayer, or a variation of it: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have pity in your world.”
In the eucharist, the identical sentiment is expressed once we sing or say the Agnus Dei, once we bring the pity of the suffering Lamb of God to bear upon our broken world.
THE central character in Stephen Beresford’s play The Southbury Child is a vicar who’s something of a failure. He drinks, he has not been faithful, and the parish is united against him because, for once making a stand on principle, he won’t give a bereaved mother the balloons she wants at her child’s funeral. But no less than he knows he’s a failure. A very moving moment occurs near the tip when he simply stands with a way of helplessness and prays the Jesus Prayer.
The prayer of the Church is prayer for a failed world. But this prayer generally is a form of music: sad, haunting, but lifting grief right into a recent plane.
In his poem “East Coker”, T. S. Eliot writes of “the wounded surgeon”, and in recent times the phrase “the wounded healer” — which originated with Carl Jung — has turn into more widely often known as the title of a book by Henri Nouwen. It is commonly those that are wounded who’re best in a position to come near the injuries of others. “Wounded I sing,” Herbert begins, and ends, “And now my griefs to sing.”
The Rt Revd Lord Harries of Pentregarth is a former Bishop of Oxford. This is an edited extract from his book Wounded I Sing: From Advent to Christmas with George Herbert, published by SPCK Publishing at £10.99 (Church Times Bookshop £8.79); 978-0-281-08942-0. He reviews Andrew Shanks’s recent book Sublime Virtue here
