Using Alliteration in Poetry

Alliteration has long served as a structural scheme in English poetry, together with rhythm, meter or rhyme. Alliteration is the use of consecutive (though not necessarily adjacent) words beginning with the same sound, as in the phrase “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” The alliterative sound may also occur on an accented syllable, rather than at the beginning of the word.

The Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf is known for its consistent use of alliteration, a feature that aided its transmission by word of mouth before it was written. Here is the beginning of the poem in the original, with a translation by Francis B. Gummere in the Harvard Classics:

Oft Scyld Scêfing sceaðena preátum,
monegum maegðum meodo-setla ofteáh.
Egsode eorl, syððan ærest wearð
feá-sceaft funden : he päs frðfre gebâd,
weðx under wolcnum, weorð-myndum ðâh . . .

Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve . . .

Here are a few later excerpts from English poetry as examples of alliteration:

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
    — Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), “To His Coy Mistress”

My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank . . .
    — Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), “Binsey Poplars”

It can be an enjoyable exercise to try alliteration in composing poetry; I have used it several times. In Heart of the Highriders, the novel I wrote jointly with my daughter Charity Silkebakken, the Councilor Lincaemon the Elder utters a funeral lament for the fallen ruler Fauntflooy:

Bewail our Fauntflooy, noble and strong,
who ruled the realm with right
and was first to fight the fiercest,
in brutal battle bold!
Bewail our Fauntflooy, and weep,
for he furnished you with finery,
wrapped you in riches,
favored you with food and fatness,
shielded you in safe shelter,
left your life with no lack!

My poem “Peculiar People,” which my wife, Shirley Anne, kindly included in her chapbook The Promise, uses alliteration throughout. Here is the first stanza:

Pilgrims we are, passing through this plane
of dismal dreariness, our destination
not this trial-torn, terrestrial turf
where falsehood flaunts its frightful face,
but bound for blessedness and beauty,
land of life and luminous love
where Christ the crucified, our King, controls.

Alliteration seems especially appropriate when you’re trying for a rhetorical impact, but it has other uses such as creating a sound effect or bringing out humor. If you’re stumped sometime by difficulties with meter or rhyme, try alliteration as a device to help your poem “hang together.”

First published in WestWard Quarterly, Spring 2010 Issue.

Posture in Worship

Recently a friend of my wife’s raised the issue of the correct posture for prayer. Brought up in a church where it was customary to kneel for prayer, she now finds herself attending one in which the congregation stands for prayer, but she feels uncomfortable doing so. Her pastor, himself, became aware of the issue and outlined several different prayer postures that he found in Scripture, depending on the mood or purpose of the prayer. Obviously, consideration of the proper Biblical posture for prayer is linked to that for all aspects of corporate worship, which in one way is simply “public prayer.”

Why is the question of posture in worship important? Isn’t it our inward motivation and direction toward God that is more important? Well, yes and no. Biblical worship always has a visible, as well as invisible, component. The words translated “worship” in English versions of both the Old and New Testaments are words of movement or posture. The Hebrew hishtachavah signifies bowing down or falling prostrate, and the Greek proskuneo means, literally, to fall to the knees. In the ancient world these were the proper gestures for expressing homage to a sovereign ruler or superior, signifying one’s loyalty and submission. These gestures are especially important within the framework of the Biblical covenant, which is a relationship between a King and the people that is faithful to Him as their Authority and Source. Biblical worship is the expression of this relationship of fidelity and dependence.

Perhaps, in our contemporary culture, it is difficult to understand the need for gesture as an expression of honor and loyalty. Within the military, of course, the salute preserves this concern for an outward sign of respect, but many such gestures have disappeared from common life. At one time a gentleman removed his hat, or stood up if seated, when a lady entered his presence. A man always removed his hat within a building, unless it signified some official role (the headgear of a policeman, for example, or that of a bishop during a liturgy). Today, however, it is common to see men eating in restaurants wearing baseball-style caps. In our “casual age” we have largely lost the sense of what is appropriate gesture and posture (or clothing, for that matter) in various venues, including that of Christian worship.

The Old Testament describes various postures and movements associated with Israelite worship — not only bowing down, but also processions, dance, lifting the hands, and standing (not, however, sitting, which was a posture of honor accorded to teachers, see Matthew 5:1). The earliest Christians met in private homes, often at night and under some threat of persecution if their gathering came to the attention of local authorities. Under such conditions the full range of postures characteristic of Israelite festive worship was not available to them. We know that New Testament worshipers sang, prayed, prophesied, taught from the Scriptures, and partook of the Supper of the Lord. Given the scarcity of furniture for sitting in ancient times — even meals were typically eaten in a reclining position — it is likely that the congregation stood throughout the time of the gathering. (This was the custom in the chairless Medieval cathedrals and is still the practice today in the Eastern churches.) Depending on the number of people present, there was probably not room for more spacious postures within the confines of the home where the assembly gathered.

Nevertheless, Paul refers to the unbeliever visiting the Christian assembly who, moved by the word of prophecy, “falls on his face” to worship God (1 Corinthians 14:25). And this is the gesture Paul envisions for worship when the authority of Christ becomes universally recognized; he looks forward to the time when “at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:10-11). The same posture of prostration is in view in the worship described in the Revelation to John, in which “the twenty-four elders fall down before him who is seated on the throne and worship him who lives for ever and ever; they cast their crowns before the throne” (Revelation 4:10). In addition, Roman catacomb illustrations of early Christians praying show them in the “orant” position, lifting their hands just as Paul suggests in 1 Timothy 2:8: “I desire then that in every place the men should pray, lifting holy hands without anger or quarreling.”

Prostration and the lifting of hands are both gestures of “confessing that Jesus Christ is Lord” (Romans 10:9), which I suggest is the heart of New Testament worship. They are consistent with the act of “giving thanks,” which Biblically does not mean to express gratitude but to affirm one’s loyalty to God alone. The Hebrew word todah, translated “give thanks,” is derived from the word for “hand” (yad) and refers to lifting the hand in the oath of loyalty (a gesture preserved today in the “swearing in” of public officials). We see this close connection in what Paul says of the apostate Jews in Romans 1:21: “For although they knew God they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking and their senseless minds were darkened.” The Christian Holy Communion or Eucharist — a word derived from the Greek term eucharisteo, “give thanks” — therefore contains this element of pledging one’s faithfulness to God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

It comes down to this: Christian worship is not a spectator sport but an active expression of covenantal faithfulness to the Lord. Prostration, bending the knee, lifting the hand, “giving thanks” or partaking of the Lord’s Supper are all actions that symbolize this theological truth. I do not say that they are the only acts capable of expressing faithfulness to God. But I am suggesting that Christian gatherings that fail to make a place for some visible and significant expression of faithfulness through movement, posture, and gesture are missing the point of New Testament worship. Such “meetings” have lapsed into an audience-entertainer format in which the only expression of commitment is inside one’s head, where no one else can call you to account for it. Of course, true worship — as Jesus insisted — is worship “in spirit and truth” (John 4:24). However, it is a mistake to think of the “spiritual” as the “invisible.” In fact, in Scripture whenever someone is described as being “filled with the Spirit” we know it because of the actions we see them perform.

Judas Iscariot (A Dramatic Monologue)

I know people won’t understand,
but I thought I was doing the right thing.
I believed in Him, like all the others,
and He must have known that,
or He would never have called me to be one of His disciples.
I remember how it was in the beginning.
We had such high hopes
that God was about to do something great.
And we did see great things —
I was one of those He sent out,
and we found that even the demons were subject to us —
yes, even to me!
We came back to Him with such a glowing report.
But, as time went on, things started to go sour.
He began to talk about suffering and death
instead of the victory we were looking for.
I was tempted to drop out, as some others did,
but I stuck with Him.
After all, I had a responsible position in the organization
as chief financial officer of the movement.
Some of the guys, like John, claimed I was misusing the funds.
But if you’re going to administer a program of aid to the poor
you need a professional to manage it.
Surely I was entitled to a small consulting fee,
plus reimbursement for expenses.
Yes, I stayed with Him right up to the end.
But it drove me crazy to see Him
not doing one thing to oppose the Romans.
I thought He ought to act boldly,
to call in those legions of angels
who could put God’s enemies in their place.
And, except for that one incident in the Temple,
He didn’t do anything about the corruption in the hierarchy.
He just hemmed and hawed, and kept talking
about giving His life as a ransom — for whom?
for the many? For all those Gentiles?
What about us Jews — don’t we deserve a break, at last?
I had to do something to get Him moving.
I figured that when the Temple guard came after Him
He would have to act like the King he was supposed to be.
But it didn’t work out that way.
It wasn’t the money, believe me;
they can take back their thirty pieces of silver
and do what they like with them —
buy more real estate, I suppose.
As for me, now that He’s in Roman custody
and slated for execution any time now
there’s nothing more I can do for Him.
I know I’ll be misunderstood for what I did,
and right now I don’t even understand myself.
I don’t know where I’ll go, or what I’m going to do,
but I have an idea it won’t be good . . .

What Is Worship?

We’re used to calling the church’s main Sunday gathering a worship service. But what do we mean by worship? Is it worship to listen to a preacher? Is it worship to sit and listen to others singing or performing on instruments? Is it even worship when we sing songs about our faith, or our devotion to God?

All of these things may have a place in our weekly gathering, but they don’t really define worship in a Biblical sense. Some have tried to define the word worship by breaking it up into its component parts — worth-ship, that is, ascribing worth to God. That’s fine, for as God’s people we should be doing that. Just one problem: the Bible wasn’t written in English, so using the English dictionary definition or etymology doesn’t really help to get at biblical insights.

Worship, in the Bible, has a particular meaning. The two words translated as worship in the English Bible are the Hebrew hishtachavah and the Greek proskuneo. Both words mean to bow down or to fall prostrate. They refer to the act of homage and loyalty one pays to a King or other high authority. One is worshiping when he is bowing down to acknowledge the superiority and power of Another.

There may be times when it’s appropriate to bow down in our worship, and bowing is practiced in some churches. But the main point is the concept behind bowing down, which is to exalt the Lord and enthrone Him as our Sovereign. If our Sunday gathering doesn’t exalt the Lord, then it isn’t really worship.

So when we sing, we should be singing about Him and His greatness, and not about us and our faith or devotion. In fact, we should be singing to Him, telling Him of our love and our praise. A worshiping congregation is one that talks to God and sings to God, and not just to each other.

Worship isn’t a performance we watch, but a meeting with our God who has rescued us through His Son. The risen Christ is present, the Lord God and the Lamb are dwelling in the temple of their holy people. We enter into his presence not to be entertained but to bow down — literally or figuratively — before Him.

Therefore, when we leave the church on Sunday, our response is not, “The choir did a great job” or “The worship leader blew it today” or “I enjoyed the sermon” or “I didn’t like the music they picked.” The only relevant question is, “Did I meet God today, and did I express to Him my love and adoration and loyalty?”

Worship. Think about it.

First published in ReUnion, newsletter of Union Congregational Church, North Aurora, Illinois, October 2004.

Truth in the Bible

Biblical logic, to the consternation of Western minds, is not linear but circumferential. That is, a biblical “argument” does not proceed in linear fashion, by the exclusion of illogical alternatives, to the point where a single final “truth” emerges. Instead, biblical logic surrounds a subject with arguments from various angles until there remains nothing further to be said, and the matter is dropped in favor of the next topic. (See the study Biblical Logic and Interpretation on our ministry web site, from which this material is excerpted.) This consideration has implications for the understanding of “truth” in Scripture.

This circumferential character of biblical logic stems from a basic presupposition of the biblical world view, the understanding that all truth inheres in the will of God. Truths — we might speak of them today as “facts” or insights — have no force apart from the intention and activity of the Creator. As Proverbs puts it, “No wisdom, no understanding, no counsel, can avail against the Lord” (Proverbs 21:30). This must be the perspective behind Jesus’ prayer, “Thy Word is truth” (John 17:17). No factoid, principle or “law of physics” can have independent reality apart from the work of Yahweh — or, in the case of the New Testament, apart from Christ who is the incarnation of the Word of the Lord, in whom “all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17) and who is “upholding the universe by his word of power” (Hebrews 1:3).

The Hebrew word ’emet, often translated as “truth,” does not denote abstract factuality independent of the operation of God’s purpose. Instead, biblical truth is reliability or faithfulness, in particular faithfulness to God and his will as revealed in the purposes of his covenant with Israel. The New Testament writers understand these purposes to be fulfilled, or renewed, in the ministry, death, resurrection and reign of Jesus Christ. Truth, then, consists in faithfulness to God’s covenant, and in submitting to his purpose for human life as revealed in the event of Christ.

But the divine purpose is not confined to the sphere of religion, nor even to the realm of human culture; it encompasses all that the Creator has brought into being. Hence the apostolic witness views the appearance of Christ, especially his resurrection from the dead, as a window into the renewal of the entire created order. When humanity, as “the sons of God,” comes to participate in the life of the risen Christ, then “the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay” (Romans 8:21). For Paul, indeed, there need be no “waiting period” since the Christian believer, incorporated into Christ through baptism (Romans 6:3-5), already shares the life of Christ’s resurrection (Colossians 3:1). If anyone is “in Christ,” incorporated into the body of the resurrection, that person belongs to the renewed creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). The writings of the apostle John present the same essential perspective — if stated in different terms — based on the understanding that the coming of Jesus Christ brings to human incarnation the very creative purpose which underlies the existence of all things (John 1:1-3, 14).

God, then, has written two “books” as the revelation of his truth, or his purpose for the universe and life within it. The first book is the Holy Scripture, with its testimony to the living Word in Jesus Christ. But the second “book” is the universe itself, which also testifies to the Creator’s activity and intent. Paul states the matter clearly in Romans 1:19-20: “For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. Ever since the creation of the world his invisible nature, namely, his eternal power and deity, has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made.”

Since truth inheres in faithfulness to the divine purpose, and both “books” testify to that purpose, they cannot be played off against one another in a supposed search for “objective truth” according to the Western pattern of logic. The two “books” must remain in dialogue, consistent with the circumferentiality of biblical logic. The findings of science, or cosmology, regarding the structures and operations of the physical universe cannot be marshaled in an attack upon the perspective of Scripture, nor can the teaching of the Bible be made to contravene the results of scientific inquiry and experimentation. Truth is commitment to the Creator’s intention, and each witness to that intention must be heard in its integrity, since God is the author of both.

How Far Is It from “Here” to “There”?

I stood in the center of my living room, faced north, and asked my friend to watch me. I held my left forearm across my body, and pointing with my right hand I asked, “How far is it from here [touching my left elbow] to there [touching my left fingertips]?”

“I would say its about seventeen or eighteen inches,” my friend replied. “That’s what the Bible calls a cubit, isn’t it?”

“True, but that’s not what I mean. Let me do it again.” I repeated the exercise.

“I still say it’s around eighteen inches,” he answered.

“Think again. Where was I when I pointed to my elbow, and where was I when I pointed to my fingertips?”

“Why, right here in your living room, both times!”

“But it took me one second to move my hand from my elbow to my fingertip, didn’t it?”

“So?” he frowned. I perceived that my visitor was beginning to wonder about my degree of sanity.

“Consider this,” I countered. “The earth rotates on its axis from west to east. At our latitude of around 40 degrees, the speed of rotation is about 667 miles per hour. In one second, our position ‘here’ moves about two-tenths of a mile — .185 mile, to be exact. So that was the distance from ‘here’ to ‘there.’”

You’re goofy,” he exclaimed. “Or a dork.”

“No, seriously. I was facing north, so my left forearm was parallel to the direction of the earth’s rotation. But that wouldn’t have made much difference, only the difference between seventeen inches and .185 of a mile.”

My visitor groaned. “And I suppose you can calculate how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?”

“It depends on how long their bounce lasts. Now, the better dancers can stay up . . .”

He rose from his seat on the sofa. “I’m getting out of here before this conversation affects my sanity!”

“Wait! we’re not through.”

He paused. “Well, make it quick. I have an appointment in fifteen minutes with my therapist. At least he’s not crazy — I think.”

“This won’t take long. Think about it this way. The earth’s orbit around the sun is about 600 million miles. In a 365-day year there are 31,536,000 seconds. So the earth moves about nineteen miles per second — more or less, depending on which side of the earth we happen to be on when we do our measurement, because the direction of the rotation on the earth’s surface either adds or subtracts from that orbital speed.”

“Then you’re saying that the distance from ‘here’ to ‘there’ was nineteen miles?” He turned toward the front door, looking as though he would like to exit my house at that same speed.

“No, there’s more. The solar system orbits around the center of the galaxy at a speed of 220 kilometers per second. So from ‘here’ to ‘there’ is actually 136 miles, plus or minus the other factors. But then, we have to consider the rotational speed of our galaxy around the galactic center, and the speed of our cluster through ‘absolute space,’ if we could ever measure that. Michelsen and Morley’s experiment in 1887 was inconclusive . . .”

But my friend was out the door by this time. Therefore he failed to hear my final point. “So this all shows that whenever we try to state a truth, we always need to ask from what perspective we’re gauging the accuracy of our statements. Now this could apply to anything we care to talk about, such as . . . oh, I guess he’s gone.”

Insight into a Creative Process

In 2003 I acquired a CD recording of the Symphony No. 3 by the English composer Sir Edward Elgar. Elgar will be familiar to you as the composer of “Pomp and Circumstance” March No. 1, the “trio” of which is almost universally used for the processional at college and high school graduations. This music was performed at Yale University in 1905 during commencement ceremonies in which Elgar was awarded an honorary degree; its use spread from there to other college and secondary campuses.

What is remarkable about the Third Symphony is that Elgar died in 1934, leaving only some 120 pages of sketches for its four movements. In most cases the sketches are fragmentary, providing few indications of their orchestration or where the fragments were to fit into the flow of the music. However, with the eventual encouragement of Elgar’s heirs, composer Anthony Payne took those sketches, elaborated them and created a complete symphony which was first performed in 1998 by the BBC Symphony Orchestra.

Purists insist the work is an “Elgar/Payne Symphony,” and no doubt had Elgar lived to complete it the opus would have taken a different form. Nevertheless, Payne’s compositional skill and empathy for Elgar’s style and working method render this work eminently satisfying as an expression of Elgar’s own creative genius. It is music of both vigor and lyricism and, in my opinion, greater depth than that of Elgar’s first two symphonies of 1908 and 1911.

Recently, upon replaying my recording of Symphony No. 3, I became newly fascinated with it and subsequently acquired three additional CDs of the work, plus a recording and a book in which Payne explains how he went about realizing the sketches Elgar left. Listening to this music, and poring over the explanatory material, I realized that I was receiving insight into a creative process, one applicable to literature and other arts as well as to music.

Elgar’s method of orchestral composition was distinctive. He did not plan out a work in advance, but jotted down sketches for various segments mostly in “short score,” i.e. a piano score only. Often, it was not until he wrote out the full instrumental score that he arranged the sketches in their final order, developing them into longer sections. In the case of the Third Symphony this task was left for Payne to complete, using not only his knowledge of Elgar’s method and his familiarity with the content of the sketches, but also his own creative intuition by which he tried to put himself into Elgar’s frame of mind.

In short, a creative work has come about in spurts of “inspiration,” if you will, during which fragments emerge — but a final “vision” must emerge in which the goal of the work becomes clear and the fragments fall coherently into place. Elgar had played through most of his symphony in his home with close friends, but never brought it to completion. Terminally ill in late 1933 and early 1934, he either never attained that final coherence or was too weak to bring it to expression. Another was to achieve it — if not Elgar’s vision, one that has an Elgarian “ring” to it. Elgar himself, near the end of his life, had foreseen this possibility.

Reflecting upon all of this, I realized that I have often worked by a similar creative process. With a novel, a fragment of speech, a part of an incident or a scene will come to me, and I will write it down. (In the case of a work of scholarship, the fragments may take the form of some trenchant articulation of a point, or a more developed paragraph of discussion.) But where these pieces fit in the eventual flow of the book may not become apparent until the larger scheme emerges. At that point I may discover that new material needs to be created as a transition between the already-written segments, or to “set the stage” for some critical development in the story that I have already narrated. And I may be surprised by new insights into my characters, and realize that more of their story needs to be told, here and there, to “flesh out” their internal struggles and explain their actions. My wife agrees that some of that “initial sketches — cohering vision — final revision” process occurs in the creation of her poetry.

I don’t claim this insight is unique. Probably many, if not most, writers, composers and other creative artists work by a similar process. Seeing it brought out, though, in the discussion of how Elgar’s Third Symphony came to light has been stimulating and instructive.