Something we all do sometimes.
When reflecting on Jacob’s wrestling with God yesterday, I recalled one of the so-called Terrible Sonnets, “Carrion Comfort” by the English priest Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1899), for it too concerns a wrestling match. Hopkins speaks of his struggle with despair and darkness but also, as it turns out, of his struggle with God within himself.
I have decided to share this sonnet with you, for I am convinced of its relevance and importance. But be forewarned! Although it is well worth our effort, this poem is difficult. I hope you will read it closely, say it aloud, and savor the poem’s power and beauty. For I think you will find that it speaks of very deep matters that concern all of us. And I believe it will feed your faith and your love of Christ, as it has fed me.
Here is the poem; my explication will follow (if you find the poem too difficult, just read my explication).
Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
Let’s begin at the beginning and see how the poem develops. First, the poet addresses his Despair, this Adversary he calls “Carrion Comfort.” He struggles to preserve his life and “not untwist…these last strands of man in me or, most weary, cry I can no more.” After all, he is not entirely helpless. He can hope for a better day (“wish day come”)and choose life over death (“not choose not to be”). And so he rejects death as an easy out—this “carrion comfort”—and he presses on with difficulty, uncertainly.
He then asks what we all ask: Why is this happening to me? Why must life be such a struggle? He addresses his Despair: “O thou terrible,” why do you “Lay a lionlimb against me…me frantic to avoid thee and flee”? Why, oh why, when I weary so and only long for peace?
Why? But he knows why. It is “That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.” What is worthless in him, chaff, will fly away in the struggle, and what is left will be pure white grain. He knows this from the day he encountered his “hero”—Christ, whose “rod” (scepter or Cross) he “kissed.”
Yet Hopkins remembers another wrestling match, not with Despair and Death—but with Christ! This realization comes with the greatest astonishment, as Hopkins recognizes himself to be divided, facing two ways. Christ is that “hero whose heaven-handling flung me…,” he says. Christ “flung” him to heaven, he says—but, he asks, which “me” did He fling? “Me? Or me that fought Him? O which one? Is it each one?”
Hopkins’s divided selves are both involved, of course, for Christ came to save all of us in our entirety. And Hopkins sees that it is Christ God who Himself wrestled with Death and Despair on his behalf once and for all—this God-man who prayed, “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46). For we see that the poem’s final words, “(my God!) my God,” allude to Christ’s prayer on the Cross. But now it is the poet who says this prayer, and he says it with some trepidation—with a shock of recognition and even terror! For this Friend of Man has become his adversary, and he sees himself as a “wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.” The realization comes so suddenly that Hopkins is aghast, speechless (for it is the poem’s final line), and he knows that this wrestling match is not over, regardless of what he says about “that year’s done darkness.” Yet the memory of his salvation lingers still, for he has “lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer” through his hero, Christ. And surely he knows that it is now Christ God with whom and through whom he has wrestled—and continues to wrestle.
What is the meaning of this poem? I think this deeply moving poem reflects on the duality of our humanity and the mystery of Christ’s two natures. If we humans are divided persons, facing two ways—longing to be free but bound to things of this world—Christ is not. For He is that signal, fully integrated Person, both divine and human. Jesus Christ is both God and man: God, in His final victory over death and despair; but also man, in profoundest identification with us as we struggle. In this poem, Hopkins is saying that God’s humanity in Christ is so deep, so authentic that He can pray from His heart these human words of despair: “My God, My God,” and it is because of this that Hopkins himself can pray these words, be not afraid, and be saved—saved, that is, even from himself!
If we find the poem confusing and difficult, it is not for any lack of clarity, but because Hopkins here is probing the mystery of the Christian experience:
This God-man with whom we wrestle saves us,evenaswe wrestle with Him—even as we confront our own darkness and struggle to choose Him as our True Self, all so that we may experience our own victory over Death and Despair in Him.
Fr. Paul Martin
Annunciation & St. Paraskevi Greek Orthodox Church
New Buffalo, MI