O Sacred Heart
Hymn by Francis Stanfield (1835 — 1914); Tune: “Laurence” by Sir Richard Runciman Terry (1865 — 1938)
Performed by Ishmael Wallace, tenor and pianist
1. O Sacred Heart,
our home lies deep in thee;
on earth thou art an exile’s rest,
in heav’n the glory of the blest,
O Sacred Heart.
2. O Sacred Heart,
thou fount of contrite tears;
where’er those living waters flow,
new life to sinners they bestow,
O Sacred Heart.
3. O Sacred Heart,
our trust is all in thee,
For though earth’s night be dark and drear,
thou breathest rest where thou art near,
O Sacred Heart.
4. O Sacred Heart,
when shades of death shall fall,
receive us ‘neath thy gentle care,
and save us from the tempter’s snare,
O Sacred Heart.
5. O Sacred Heart,
lead exiled children home,
where we may ever rest near thee,
in peace and joy eternally,
O Sacred Heart.
– Francis Stanfield (1835-1914)
Dear Friends,
At the end of a BBC drama from 1942, Sherlock Holmes speaks of
“This fortress built by Nature for herself, this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.”
He is speaking of a nation, but also of the heart, and of the Sacred Heart.
As Saint Teresa of Avila describes it, our soul is a castle: in the outer rooms, the chatter of the courtiers; in the innermost, the silence of the Lord. In prayer, we are drawn from the outer to the inner.
As we move toward the center, the center moves toward us. Jung saw this movement reflected in our dreams. For many years, we are caught in the conflicts of the courtiers, torn between one side and another. We are torn, for example, between the imperatives to holiness and inclusion. These conflicts are not resolved, but as we struggle to hold both sides in awareness, the center appears — and in its light, they vanish like morning dew.
In traditional designs from Tibet to Guatemala, the pattern emerges from the center.
Yellow Textile, Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque, Esfahan, Iran Photo by Faruk Kaymak
In the depths of our soul, far from the torches of the courtiers, the Sun rises:
I approached the confines of death, and having trod on the threshold of Proserpine, I returned therefrom, being borne through all the elements. At midnight I saw the Sun shining with its brilliant light…
The Golden Ass, Lucius Apuleius (c. 124 – after 170)
I SAW the Sun at midnight, rising red,
Deep-hued yet glowing, heavy with the stain
Of blood-compassion, and I saw It gain
Swiftly in size and growing till It spread
Over the stars; the heavens bowed their head
As from Its heart slow dripped a crimson rain,
Then a great tremor shook It, as of pain—
The night fell, moaning, as It hung there dead.
O Sun, O Christ, O bleeding Heart of flame!
Thou giv’st Thine agony as our life’s worth,
And mak’st it infinite, lest we have dearth
Of rights wherewith to call upon thy Name;
Thou pawnest Heaven as a pledge for Earth,
And for our glory sufferest all shame.
Joseph Mary Plunkett (1887–1916)
To witness the rising of the sun, we must go into the dark, go into the cloud of unknowing. We must lose interest, not exactly in the things of this world, but in our thoughts about them. The courtiers continue to gossip, but we turn inward.
This loss of interest has at first a melancholy flavor:
Je suis le Ténébreux, – le Veuf, – l’Inconsolé,
Le prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie :
Ma seule étoile est morte, – et mon luth constellé
Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie…
El Desdichado, Gérard de Nerval (1808 —1855)
I am the Dark — the Widowed — the Unconsoled,
the Prince of Aquitaine of the abolished tower:
my only star is dead, and my constellated lute
bears the black sun of Melancholy…
(translation by IW)
It is a kind of burnout:
"Seeing thus, the well-instructed disciple of the noble ones grows disenchanted…Disenchanted, he becomes dispassionate. Through dispassion, he is fully released…”
Āditta-pariyāya Sutta (The Fire Sermon), translated by Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu
If we sense this disenchantment, we should know we are not alone. Somewhere in the darkness is the Sun.
Thank you so much.
With every good wish,
Ishmael
Sacred Heart at the centre of a rose window, Santa Ifigênia Church, São Paulo, Brazil
Photograph by Wilfredor, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Many thanks to Chantal LaFortune for her post which inspired this:
I offer lessons online in music theory; for a taste of the insights to which it may lead, please see my website:
Ishmael, have you ever read the Valley of Vision? I thought of it when I read this, particularly the part about being able to see stars at midday from within a deep well.(It is part of an excellent book of prayers by the same name if you are not already familiar with it.)
Lord high and holy, meek and lowly
Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.
Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown, that to give is
to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.
Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;
Let me find thy light in my darkness,
thy life in my death,
thy joy in my sorrow,
thy grace in my sin,
thy riches in my poverty,
thy glory in my valley.