‘Glory’ is a word that is too good for this world. Like the word ‘nature’, it is a many-layered word, with much depending on the context.
Everybody knows Kipling’s words on gardens. ‘Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,’ he says. And he goes on: ‘But the glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.’ He doesn’t mince matter when he talks about the gritty aspect of gardening: ‘grubbing weeds from gravel paths with broken dinner-knives.’ We know that we can’t have beautiful gardens without getting our hands dirty and we can be proud in our country of those like Gertrude Jekyll who demonstrated that gardens could indeed be places of surpassing beauty. But ‘glory’ can take to itself – and some might say, be tainted by – fame, triumph, self-indulgent exultation.
However, if we go beyond gardens, we get to the meat of the matter. Glory can endue even patriotism or civilisation with magnificence. In Burke’s view glory of that kind is fragile: ‘But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever.’ Whenever we think of glory, we have a suspicion that Burke may be right when he finds that vainglory may be lurking round its neighbour.
It is when we sing of glorious things being spoken of Zion, the city of our God, that we get to the heart of the word. We may say with Vaughan: ’I see them walking in an air of glory whose light doth trample on my days.’ Our imaginations are fired. But that only takes us so far. We, like the disciples, are filled with awe.
Glory shoulders its way into the Gospels with the account of the transfiguration. It is as though Jesus lived in camouflage. He could have been mistaken for any carpenter’s son. But there came a moment of revelation when the glory broke through. In Mark 9 we read that Peter took Peter, James and John with up a mountain and, in their presence, he was transfigured. As had happened once before, a voice from a cloud said: ‘This is my beloved son.’ It was one of those moments in the Gospels when those present were terrified.
Glory or a derivative is a key-word in the fourth Gospel. It comes as a declaration of Jesus’ identity at the beginning (John 1.14) and it appears significantly as the account proceeds, particularly in chapter 17. There is a glory about the death and resurrection of Jesus.
Glory is magnificence, radiance, brightness. It is self-authenticating. Michael Ramsey, a former Archbishop of Canterbury, viewed glory as a prominent element in the Gospels, notably in ‘The Glory of God and the Transfiguration of Christ’. Taking up the word ‘kabod’ from the Old Testament, he says: ‘No word in the Bible has a more fascinating history.’
‘Veiled in flesh the Godhead see’ we sing. Veiled indeed. And when the veil is removed our eyes are blinded. We fall silent. The response to glory is awe. We should be awestruck in August when we remember the Transfiguration – and on this coming Thursday when we remember the Ascension.
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