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HOPE ALIVE (on St. Robert Southwell's The Nativity of Christ) - Ana Braga-Henebry
Nearly five centuries after its posthumous publication in 1595, “The Nativity of Christ,” a short poem by the English Catholic martyr St. Robert Southwell, SJ, comes to our aid. Curious: that a poem about the Nativity would speak of despair and weeping, deafness and dumbness, death and darkness. Yet these themes surround us in 2020. Let us remember that Southwell’s own age was one of fear, darkness, sickness, and more: persecution, torture, and execution. These realities loomed daily in the life of Fr. Southwell and the other missionary priests, who dared to teach and practice the Catholic faith in Elizabethan England.
The poem, which Southwell wrote in prison while awaiting execution, brings us today what he was able to bring then to his readers, mostly fellow prisoners: hope. He and countless others were martyred for their beloved Catholic faith, in a time and place when religious liberty was all but snuffed out. Southwell brought this hope to life in his verses.
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The first stanza ponders the mystery of Christ incarnate, born a tiny baby and laid upon the hay, feeble. We see the saving action of God at work through the mire and mess of our human condition. What can bring greater hope than the Nativity of Christ? To recall that God is acting still in the very messy world as this dreadful year closes! He is here, now, everywhere. With eyes of faith, we see Him in our homes, in our neighbors, and in the myriad opportunities He opens for us.
Joy overcoming darkness jumps at us in the very first line of the second stanza. In how many ways does the joy of salvation insist on overcoming death! The weight of darkness, of numbness, of despair: none of these are a match for the joy of salvation. The poet juxtaposes despairs with repairs—a perfect reminder of the essence of the Nativity.
The third stanza examines Christ as a gift from God. “God” and “gift” in alliterative rhythm jump from line to line, pressing the point that no higher gift can ever be given or received. God sends us the very gift of Himself; we, in turn, can be our best gifts by laying our lives and our wills at His feet. God mends our lamentable condition, transforming us “from beast to man.”
Southwell closes the poem with two earth-bound lines: Oh happy field wherein this fodder grew/ Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew! In what better manner could the poet bring us such comfort and hope? He reminds us that we are able to transcend our quotidian existence, rooted in soil and in time—the happy field where the fodder grew. As we contemplate the Nativity with faith and hope, we are remade from beasts to men!
Coming to us through the wheels of the ages, these words penned by the prison-bound saint are indeed timely, reaching across centuries from his dark hours to our own, breaking the bonds of fear and sin. May we all take his message to heart this Christmas season.
Poem - THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST
Behold the father is his daughter’s son,
The bird that built the nest is hatch’d therein,
The old of years an hour hath not outrun,
Eternal life to live doth now begin,
The word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.
O dying souls! behold your living spring!
O dazzled eyes! behold your sun of grace!
Dull ears attend what word this word doth bring!
Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace!
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs,
This life, this light, this word, this joy repairs.
Gift better than Himself God doth not know,
Gift better than his God no man can see;
This gift doth here the giver given bestow,
Gift to this gift let each receiver be:
God is my gift, Himself He freely gave me,
God’s gift am I, and none but God shall have me.
Man alter’d was by sin from man to beast;
Beast’s food is hay, hay is all mortal flesh;
Now God is flesh, and lies in manger press’d,
As hay the brutest sinner to refresh:
Oh happy field wherein this fodder grew,
Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew!
