Sunday September 9th 2012 Tim
The poem I was once forced to memorize contains the
line "He first created for the children of men heaven as a roof..."
Some have recorded this line as "He first created the heavens as the
highest roof for the children of men..." I never really went
beyond the phrase "heaven as a roof," and much worse, in my mind
the entire meaning of the verse slowly and over time had become "heaven
is a roof," accompanied by the odd expletive that always accrue to
memories of the detention room.
I was always quite happy to think of the
Venerable Bede pottering around writing his history. And I was always
quite happy to think of him as a man with a job in the clergy, rather than
as some kind of religious nut job. Then I find out he didn't even write the
poem I was forced to memorize. Someone called Caedmon dreamed it first
before he wrote it, and after writing it, he too became a 'zealous monk.'
Bede did no more to the poem than translate it from Anglo Saxon into Latin.
It's these sorts of little things that lead a person toward cynicism.