Whose Vision?: GH Day 6

There’s a poem by George Herbert that I really haven’t noticed before, and it’s titled “Submission.” It is framed by the idea that the poet’s eyes belong to the Lord. I will quote the entire poem, courtesy of the complete Temple provided by Christian Classics Ethereal Library (http://www.ccel.org/h/herbert/temple/TempleFrames.html):

Submission.

But that thou art my wisdome, Lord,        And both mine eyes are thine, My minde would be extreamly stirr’d        For missing my designe. Were it not better to bestow        Some place and power on me? Then should thy praises with me grow,        And share in my degree. But when I thus dispute and grieve,        I do resume my sight, And pilfring what I once did give,        Disseize thee of thy right. How know I, if thou shouldst me raise,        That I should then raise thee? Perhaps great places and thy praise        Do not so well agree. Wherefore unto my gift I stand;        I will no more advise: Onely do thou lend me a hand,        Since thou hast both mine eyes.

Because the Lord is his wisdom, says Herbert in the opening stanza, the poet’s eyes belong to God. This thought prompts at least 2 great questions: How does the Lord become our wisdom? And especially how can I relinquish my vision to God?

I am reminded of the wonderful old hymn, “Be Thou My Vision,” a later verse of which begins “Be Thou my wisdom.”

Lately I’ve been watching the U.S. version of Masterchef, which this 2012 season features a contestant who is blind. She, therefore, has to depend heavily on aural instructions and descriptions, as well as her other senses. I’m only half-way through the season, but it seems that relying on these other senses and being such a careful listener to others has made her a better cook than many in the competition who have depended on their own sight.

Submitting one’s vision to God, both literally (what I perceive today) and figuratively (what my goals/dreams are for my future), is a scary thought, especially because it’s a loss of control. Like most humans, I like to be in control of my own life. I’d rather put on “God glasses,” but have my own eyes underneath. What the poet is suggesting here, though, is that submission of one’s vision to God means a complete giving up of the use of one’s eyes.

Trinity College, Cambridge (Herbert's alma mater)

Herbert suggests in the opening stanza that if he were to rely on his own sight, he would miss God’s “design” for his life. The next stanzas play this idea out and, for some of us more ambitious folk, are very convicting. It seems rational, right? Surely if God put me in a higher/better position I’d be able to bring more praise to Him because of being more in the public eye? The poet acknowledges his struggle with this logical idea versus the reality in the next 2 stanzas. He is more likely to take from God than give: “How know I, if Thou shouldst me raise, / That I should then raise Thee?” (13-14). Ouch! So true. When things are going well, when we’re reaching our goals and ambitions, when we’re prospering, we tend to forget the One to Whom we owe our position/prosperity. “Perhaps great places and Thy praise / Do not so well agree” (15-16). God knows best. The question is can I submit my vision for my life to Him?

In the final stanza, the poet accepts the lot that God has given him and submits his vision for his life to God, but, just as a blind person might, asks for God to “lend me a hand” (19) to make up for the poet’s inability to see.