I have been a fan of John Donne's poetry for many years now. Donne was born in 1572 in London, England. He is known as the founder of the Metaphysical Poets. Some other noteworthy poets in this category include George Herbert, Richard Crashaw and John Cleveland. The Metaphysical Poets are known for their ability to startle the readers and create new perspectives in their thinking through paradoxical images, subtle argument, inventive syntax, and imagery from art, philosophy, and religion.
Donne entered the world during a period of theological and political unrest for both England and France. Born into a Roman Catholic family, Donne's personal relationship with religion was tumultuous and passionate, and at the center of much of his poetry. He studied at both Oxford and Cambridge Universities in his early teen years. Over time, Donne left his Catholic upbringing and turned to the Anglican Church. He married, but sadly his wife died in 1617 at thirty-three years of age shortly after giving birth to their twelfth child, who was stillborn. Much of his poetry demonstrates the pain and losses he suffered through the years, but they are tempered by his ultimate hope in heaven. He was appointed a Royal Chaplain in 1615 and became well-known for his learned, yet charismatic preaching. He died in London on March 31, 1631.
I love almost all of Donne's poetry, but here he is at his best as he describes the wonder that accompanies the reality that we as human beings are bearers of God's image and blessed to know him through Christ. However, the much greater wonder is actually realized in the incarnation - that God should become man. He drives this point home beautifully employing what is known as an aphorism (a succinct and striking statement used to imbed a thought in the reader's memory) in the final stanza. I hope you enjoy reading and even meditating on this poem today.
Holy Sonnet 15 by John Donne
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest, my soul, this wholesome meditation:
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on in heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot the Son most blest, and still begetting - for he ne'er begun -
Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, co-heir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest.
And as a robbed man, which by search doth find his stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again,
The Son of glory came down and was slain.
Us whom he had made and Satan stolen, to unbind.
'Twas much, that man was made like God before.
But, that God should be made like man - much more!
Grace and peace,
Pastor Jym