The Collar BY GEORGE HERBERT I struck the board, and
cried, "No more;
I will abroad! What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life
are free, free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me
blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it. Is the
year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double
pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy
cage,
Thy rope of sands, Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away! take heed;
I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there; tie up thy fears;
He that forbears To
suit and serve his need
Deserves his load." But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word, Methought I heard one calling, Child!
And I replied My Lord.
This poem by George Herbert is not an
easy one for modern readers, but I think it is the perfect poem for the
beginning of Lent. It’s called “The Collar,” meaning “yoke.” In
the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says, “My yoke is easy, and my burden
light” (Matthew 11:30). The speaker of this poem finds the
yoke, the collar, anything but easy. He pounds the table and says, “no
more; / I will abroad.” He’s done. He’s getting out of town. Why “sigh
and pine,” when he could be free—in Herbert’s wonderful phrase, “free as
the road.” He could go anywhere; why stay here, to fret over his sins?
This life of faith is just too difficult. It seems to be bearing no
fruit. “Have I no harvest but a thorn?” he asks, a reference to Christ’s
crown of thorns. Why should he not taste “cordial fruit”? Why should he
not enjoy the fruits of this earth—“corn” or wheat; “bays” of success;
“flowers,” and “garlands.” The poet answers himself. “Not so,
my heart… there is fruit / And thou hast hands.” He urges himself to go
for it, to stop worrying about “what is fit and not,” and instead to
seek “double pleasures.” Leave behind the “cage” of conscience, which is
but a “rope of sands,” after all, made up of “petty thoughts.” Stop
worrying about the future, he says to himself, “tie up thy fears” and
“call in thy death’s head”—don’t contemplate your mortality any longer.
Enjoy. The last four lines of the poem bring a total reversal.
“as I raved and grew more fierce and wild / At every word, / Methought I
heard one calling, Child! / And I replied My Lord.” At that word,
“child,” the speaker’s “fierce and wild” ravings cease: his resolution
to reject “the collar” of Christ, his desire to escape and be “free as
the road,” simply vanish, and he recognizes and acknowledges the one who
speaks to him: “My Lord.” In “The Collar,” the speaker asks
seven questions. But when God speaks to him at the end, it is not to
answer any of them. God does not explain how following Christ or bearing
his yoke, his collar, will be worth it in the end. He does not offer any
substitute for the fruits, the flowers, and the garlands, the good
things of life, which so appeal to the speaker. In fact, God provides no
answers or explanations at all. All the speaker gets is that simple
word, “child.” In other words, God offers relationship, not
answers. I think this is the perfect poem for Lent. Lent begins
with ashes, which are such a potent image of our mortality. The ashes on
our heads remind us, in the words from the Roman Missal, that “we are
but ashes / and shall return to dust.” This acknowledgment of our
mortality is always linked with repentance and conversion of life.
Remembering that we are dust, we remember also that we are more than
dust: in the words of Pope Francis, “we are dust loved by God…. We are a
dust that is precious, destined for eternal life. We are the dust of the
earth, upon which God has poured out his heaven, the dust that contains
his dreams. We are God’s hope, his treasure and his glory.” Lent
is about repentance and conversion—it is a season for turning back
towards God, not because we are afraid of God, but because we hear God
calling, “child.” It’s about renewing our faith, not in a “what,” but in
a “who.” God is calling us, not to answer every one of our questions,
but to invite us into relationship.
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