18

What is hidden    

Jenny Harris

Ther is no rose, Trinity Carol Roll

 Ther is no rose of swych virtu
As is the rose that bar Jhesu.
Alleluya.

For in this rose conteyned was
Heven and erthe in lytle space.
Res miranda.

By that rose we may weel see
There be one God in personys thre.
Pares forma.

The aungelys sungyn the sheperdes to
Gloria in excelsis Deo.
Gaudeamus.

Leve we al this werdly merthe
and folwe we this joyful berthe.
Transeamus.

Transeamus
Let us cross over

In the Wren library in Trinity College, lives Trinity Carol Roll. Compiled soon after 1415, it is the earliest surviving example of polyphonic music written in English. Polyphony, as you will be able to hear, is a musical texture consisting of two or more simultaneous lines of independent melody, which weave in and out of one another to create harmonies and, at times, dissonances. This beautiful carol is the final piece in the roll.

For in that rose conteyned was
Heven and erthe in lytle space.

Roses that bloom in winter are a sign. Something so out of place must have been placed there deliberately, to show us something. But there are trees as I write this thinking about budding because there has not been enough cold or frost to tell them winter is here. When things bloom out of season, now, instead of a heavenly miracle we see the effects of man-made climate change.

It is not easy to find hope and hold onto it this winter. It is not easy to keep looking and keep feeling about the world, about the climate, and it is not easy to know what to do. In fact it feels impossible not to turn away, numbly, overwhelmed by the signs and what they point to.

For Julian of Norwich, everything that God has created can be perceived as being the size of a hazelnut, which has its existence, and its coherence, its holding-together, because God loves it.

The Trinity Carol Roll asserts an even wilder spatial miracle: not only all creation ‘in lytle space’ but God’s own self too, inside a uterus, the size of an olive, the size of a grape, an avocado, a grapefruit, a melon, opening like a rose. Res Miranda: a thing to wonder at.

By that rose we may weel see
Ther be one God in personys thre.

 God came to earth because of love. God came to give love, but to receive love too. Mary waits to meet the brand new person she will love so dearly, the tiny person she will care for and protect, but who is as yet still hidden, and so very small. Heven and erthe in lytle space. Our hope too may be hidden, and very small, but our hope is in that love. We learn about God’s love when we love each other, and as we love creation we learn to protect it. Seeing things as they truly are can be devastating, it can feel like all hope is being drained, but when God came to earth it was not to see partially, or from the perspective of privilege. God assumed a human scale, and refused to be overwhelmed or numbed by human problems, but instead poured love on them, rejected toxic shame, and showed us all where to begin: by receiving Mary’s unconditional, life-giving love. This love is the first virtue and our first calling.

This year, in particular, it might not be possible to celebrate exactly as we would like to, but Advent calls us to pay attention to what is hidden, and what is very small, because hope lives there. In such a small space, God crossed over to meet us, overlapping heaven and earth. Transeamus, let us cross over to meet God there too.

Advent assures us that will find our melodies and counter-melodies and sing them aloud, together, with the angels. The song that needs everyone to join in. Gloria in excelsis deo. Gaudeamus. We will rejoice.