Easter will still come

Nicolas Bell

Easter Hymn, A E Housman

 If in that Syrian garden, ages slain,
You sleep, and know not you are dead in vain,
Nor even in dreams behold how dark and bright
Ascends in smoke and fire by day and night
The hate you died to quench and could but fan,
Sleep well and see no morning, son of man.

 But if, the grave rent and the stone rolled by,
At the right hand of majesty on high
You sit, and sitting so remember yet
Your tears, your agony and bloody sweat,
Your cross and passion and the life you gave,
Bow hither out of heaven and see and save.

 It is surely anomalous to choose an Easter Hymn for a Lenten reflection, but these verses by A. E. Housman fall completely outside the songs of joy to which such a title would more normally be attached. Lent is a time for questioning, and the two sentences which comprise this poem leave many questions open.

 We are effectively presented with only two scenarios, each of them seemingly devoid of hope. If the reason for all the hatred in the world today is that we are still awaiting the full promise of the resurrection, then Christ’s death must have been in vain. The first verse ends all too acerbically, ‘Sleep well and see no morning’, with the Son of Man denigrated to become a mere son of man. But the second verse presents at least a glint of the possibility of salvation. If all the narrative of the Passion has meaning, then we can only plead for the Second Coming to be soon.

 Much of Housman’s verse is nihilistic, though he is rarely as apocalyptic as here. In the first verse he seems not only to be apportioning blame to Christ for compounding the devastation wrought by wars of religion, but also to be chastising him for not even imagining these consequences in dreams. This anger moves to bitter resignation in the second verse, that Christ’s death must be futile if nothing can be done to quench the smoke and fire that surrounds us today. For a brief while, the poet seems to have some sympathy with Christ’s ‘agony and bloody sweat’, but any such feeling is removed by the final command, ‘Bow hither out of heaven’ – a strangely presumptuous turn of phrase. Christ is asked to ‘bow out’, to take his last bow from sitting ‘at the right hand of majesty on high’, but also to ‘bow hither’, to lower himself from that position of majesty ‘and see and save’.

 There is much anger in this poem, but maybe after all there is some hope too. Too often it is easier to let the catastrophes which envelop our lives today overwhelm any notice of the advancements from which we all benefit. But Christ’s Cross and Passion were not in vain, and the fulfilment of the Easter promise will still come to us, provided that we never cease to yearn for it.