Most people have a version of Christ which makes sense of their world. Whether that comes from a religious belief or not, the historic Christ has many cloaks. I’ve encountered him as a marxist and nationalist, and alchemist. Amongst Christians, he is God. But he also was a man, so how does that all fit?

If you’re new to my work, you might be surprised to find I’m interested in the relationship between poetry and theology. I find deep imaginative potential in both and have had intellectual curiosities satisfied by both. Ephrem the Syrian has been part of that journey in recent months and I’d love to introduce you to his writing.

Ephrem the Syrian was a Syriac theologian who lived in fourth century Edessa, modern day Turkey. During his time, many groups were trying to make sense of who Christ was. Was he fully human like us, or was his humanity an illusion? Did Christ have a divided physical and soul nature or was it just one nature? A lot of these debates happened for good reason and answers to them had real implications. However it became tainted for Ephrem when he perceived a certain arrogance.

Ephrem didn’t shy away from the need to engage in deep theological inquiry (after all, he was himself a theologian), but he saw a problem amongst his peers. What started out as open curiosity, quickly became a mission for managing the mechanics of Christ. What began as genuine inquiry for the benefit of the church, eventually slipped into logical sports for the benefit of the intellectual elite. Ephrem the Syrian valued thorough theological engagement, but cautioned his readers. He saw the need for wisdom in debating with others, whilst remaining humble in quiet contemplation. He puts it like this:

‘The mouth which wishes to speak about him who is

unspeakable,

Makes him small, for it is insufficient to his greatness.

[...]

Refrain from debating, which cannot comprehend him, and

acquire silence, which befits him.

Enable me, my Lord, to use both of these discerningly:

May I not debate presumptuously; may I not be silent

impudently.

May I learn beneficial speech; may I acquire discerning

silence.’1

Like poetry, the historic Christ is often beyond our understanding. We’re drawn out of ourselves not primarily to make all the cogs fit, but to delight, to feel unsettled, or to worship. Like poetry the historic Christ cannot easily be put together in a neat bundle of comprehension. And whilst thinking deeply about Christ often leads to worship for the Christian, there are ways in which fixating on how Christ’s nature fits together diminishes our awe of him.

Ephrem the Syrian has taught me the value of thinking deeply, whilst holding open hands for imagination, for delight and reverence.

The Fathers of the Church: St. Ephrem the Syrian, trans. by Jeffrey T. Wickes (Missouri: The Catholic University of America Press, 2015), p. 62.