Waiting and Mulling: Godot and The Book of Kells

One of the top five things on our list to see in Ireland was the Book of Kells at Trinity College in Dublin.  We sauntered over about 10:30 on a Monday morning.  The line (or queue) was wrapped three quarters the way around the grassy quad which is in front of the Old Library.  Nope, not standing in line 2+ hours.  We needed a plan.  Two days later at 9 am, we were first in line with a mere thirty minute wait for the doors to open.  At 9:30 when the doors opened, the queue was almost half way around the quad.

Once inside, we found ourselves passing through a corner of the gift/book store into the "outer room".  This room contained large photographs of various pages of the books, as well as numerous explanations of the origin and history of the books which make up the "Kells".  The displays were beautiful and informative.  This room also serves as a "holding" room until the group is of sufficient size to go into the actual book viewing room.

When we entered the viewing room, there was a large table case over to the right hand side of the room.  It was glass covered and slightly illuminated.  In the case were some of the books which make up the "Kell collection".  They were carefully held open to various pages.  The books were a range of sizes.  The smaller the book, the smaller the calligraphy or printing on the page.  How could anyone do that without an ink-jet printer, let alone a quill, ink and sheep-skin?!? Only my bifocals allowed me to be impressed by the beautiful precision of these tiny letters.

But, overall, I have to admit I was slightly underwhelmed.  With apologies to all my history-loving-pals and my new Ireland friends, I am so glad I didn't wait two plus hours to see them.  I was more astonished by the stone carvings of Loughcrew and Newgrange.  I was awestruck by the clerical robes at the Waterford Museum of Treasures.  However, my feelings do not in any way diminish the significance of the Kells.  Their preservation and place in history is significant.  I guess I really didn't know what to expect.  All I know is my reaction was not what I thought it would be. I was more jazzed by the 1953 prompt copy of Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot in the Long Room upstairs.

In a review of the 1956 New York production of Waiting for Godot, Brooks Atkinson writes,

"Since 'Waiting for Godot' is an allegory written in a heartless modern tone, a theatre-goer naturally rummages through the performance in search of a meaning. It seems fairly certain that Godot stands for God. Those who are loitering by the withered tree are waiting for salvation, which never comes.The rest of the symbolism is more elusive. But it is not a pose. For Mr. Beckett's drama adumbrates--rather than expresses--an attitude toward man's experience on earth; the pathos, cruelty, comradeship, hope, corruption, filthiness and wonder of human existence. Faith in God has almost vanished. But there is still an illusion of faith flickering around the edges of the drama. It is as though Mr. Beckett sees very little reason for clutching at faith, but is unable to relinquish it entirely."

While I gazed upon the copy of Waiting for Godot... waiting... I started to think of something I saw in the outer room of the Kells display. Over in the corner, not is a very prominent place, and not in a way that would draw attention to itself, was a picture display of a small book the Gospels.  It was very small, that in and of itself is a wonder, easily carried in one hand.  But it was the title that captured my eye.  A quick glance might lead someone to think it was a recipe book for mixing wine and spices.  But the full title cleared that up quickly, "The Mulling Book - A pocket version of the Gospels".

Maybe the monks had it right.  Just maybe, these ancient texts are for mulling.  Mulling is a process in which one slowly heats up wine or cider and slowly adds spices or sweetener to the heated liquid to create something new and different.  One can see how the word for this process became a figurative term in literature meaning to think deeply and at length about a matter.  If these sacred books were "mulled", is it possible they might take on a sweeter taste?  Is it possible if we "mull" these texts that the "spices" might make for a more diverse, interesting, and savory flavors?

The difficulty is not the text itself but what we bring to the mulling of the text.  I'm afraid that the Gospels have become just books of doctrine, or just books of law or just books of pseudo-sacred-science.  Are they prescriptive or descriptive?  Or maybe the better question is, as individuals, which do we need them to be?  They seem to have become the object of scientific deliberation and less about faith stimulating consideration.  And is not faith the very spice the Gospels seek to mix into the life of the reader?  The science of hermeneutics becomes a chief end rather than any "culinary" considerations of life flavoring, a dash of St. Mark, a cup of St. John.  There are too many examples in recent memory in which sacred writings have become a  more like a egg whip or potato masher to be used on those you do not comply to the "truths" contained; rather than, a simmering pan of delicious aromas filling the entire house.

Is it possible that like in Beckett's play, the Gospels have become the barren / withered tree which has no fruit for the hungry?  Has faith been pushed to the edges of life because the tree has been effectively denuded by making dogmatic what was made to be considered and re-considered, mulled if you will with the spices of each ensuing generation?  Like Atkinson observed of Beckett, somehow it doesn't seem right to let faith escape the scene altogether, but the forces that seem to be pushing it to the edges have lost the wonderment of the text that the monks sought to preserve.

Maybe we should mull that over a little bit more.  Could someone pass the wine?