a response to my complaint that I do not understand love

"I am sorry I cannot explain the thing to you," he answered, "but there is no provision in you for understanding it. Not merely, therefore, is the phenomenon inexplicable to you, but the very nature of it is inapprehensible by you. Indeed I but partially apprehend it myself. At the same time you are constantly experiencing things which you not only do not, but cannot understand. You think you understand them, but your understanding of them is only your being used to them, and therefore not surprised at them. You accept them, not because you understand them, but because you must accept them: they are there, and have unavoidable relations with you! The fact is, no man understands anything; when he knows he does not understand, that is his first tottering step - not toward understanding, but toward the capability of one day understanding. To such things as these you are not used, therefore you do not fancy you understand them. Neither I nor any man can here help you to understand, but I may, perhaps, help you a little to believe!"
- from Lilith

You are right, my child. You do not understand love. Do not let that worry you. I understand it.

After all, have you understood the stars? Have you understood the behavior of subatomic particles and the collective motions of oxygen ions? Are you so wise that you understand all this? You can explain it. Very well, explain away, but you will not understand. Is this what you want with love? This is not what I want for you. You will know Love, my love, as you will never know the stars. You will never explain it, no matter how hard you try. But you will know it, and when you pass through it, you will say, “Yes, I know what that is. That is Love.” Do not worry that it seems to pass away like a cloud on closer examination. This is because you are not yet tangible, not solid enough to grasp even the smallest piece of it. Yet it covers you as a blanket, even now. Your head is in the blue sky. My love is the air you breathe. Do not be unbelieving, but believe.

Yes, Lord, I believe. I do not understand, but I pray that by Your grace I may come closer to the capability of one day grasping within my understanding an atom of Your Love.

we shall not cease from exploration

I'm sitting in Starbucks sipping the latte that I bought as a birthday present to myself. There's a quote on my cup from Youssou N'Dour:

People need to see that, far from being an obstacle, the world's diversity of languages, religions and traditions is a great treasure, affording us precious opportunities to recognize ourselves in others.

I wonder about that. I mean, I wholeheartedly believe that it's true. There's something marvelous about finding ourselves in others, especially where we didn't expect to see ourselves, but I don't think that's where it stops. What I find even more incredible is finding goodness in what is not ourselves. What I love about diversity is the chance not only to find myself in others but the chance to discover a goodness that I had never considered, that I could never have imagined. It reminds me that there is a Goodness that is much greater than anything inside of me, a Truth that is larger than anything I have understood, and a Beauty more incredible than what I have yet seen.

This joy of discovery is the reason I have devoted my life to the study of science, the reason I love sharing my life with non-Catholics, the reason I try to learn techniques of Eastern meditation. The truths that I learn there could never negate but only enrich the beautiful Truth that my God loves me and gave His life for me, that He leads and guides us through His Word in the scriptures and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit working through the Tradition of the Catholic Church. Secure in this knowledge, I go exploring, and I suspect that, to borrow from T.S. Eliot, the end of all my exploring will be to arrive back in the arms of Father God and Mother Church and to know them for the first time.

Lord, I pray that you would bless my exploring. Help me to take the same attitude with myself and with everyone I meet, trusting that there, also, is present more Truth, Goodness, and Beauty than I ever would have imagined.

too many of my poems have been rhyming

Too many of my poems have been rhyming
As if by melody and form
strictly enforced
I could force my words
to fill the bounds of meaning
and beauty, beauty and meaning
both together, woven
among these strands
of audible thought, binding
their substance to the near-
tangible matter
of words made solid
shaped
according to my purpose

But this time, forms remain unclear
Not absent, or as some may suppose,
broken by human hands,
but as yet unfulfilled
and unknown.
Let these words flow, unbridled,
this matter evolve
beyond imagination
what eye has not seen
what ear has not heard
what has not entered the human heart
will yet find its institution there
unknown matter and unknown form
and mystery
yet to be revealed

be still

Come, my love, my life, for this wind
is fierce and cold, and I need you
by my side
O my morning star, how this night
is dark and this ship tempest-tossed
be my light
But still, my love, sleep on, and rest
your peaceful head through this storm, here
on my breast
Sleep, my Lord, my love, I'll not fear
that my small ship will come to harm
with you here
in my arms

not by bread alone

"This is our vocation: to heal wounds, to bind the broken, to bring home those who are lost." - St. Francis of Assisi

I have been thinking a lot lately about the meaning of friendship and brotherhood, about our role as members of the Body of Christ. I so often find it difficult to get past my own selfishness, my own needs. Yet what would the hand do if it didn't ensure that the mouth was fed? What would the foot do if it didn't carry the body to a place where it could rest? It may at first seem better to look out for itself, but it would soon find that its own needs cannot be met unless it first looks out for the needs of others.

We live in a society that says we must first feed ourselves before looking to the needs of others. To put aside my own desires for the sake of others isn't something I can do on my own, but I can make small efforts, and I pray that those small efforts will be multiplied. The words of a Sara Groves song keep going through my head: "When fear engulfs your mind, says you protect your own, you still extend your hand, you open up your home... That's a little stone, that's a little mortar. That's a little seed, that's a little water in the hearts of the sons and daughters, this kigdom's coming."

In the little things, may I learn to give up my own will, so that I will be sustained not by what I give to myself, but by the workings of grace in my life, that with Christ I may say, "My food is to do the will of the one who sent me and to finish his work."

Oh Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console
to be understood as to understand
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

thanks for the mustard

“Everyone in the world who is free wants freedom first of all as a means: he wants freedom in order to give it away.” ~Fulton Sheen

I know how true this is. There is nothing so tiring as having nothing to do; a summer of laziness a few years ago taught me that. I need those demands on my time that can limit my freedom, but I want the freedom to decide which demands I will take upon myself.

Much of my restlessness in the past year has been the result of this desire as well. I moved far from home; I found that I had to in order to gain the freedom to make my own decisions. I need that freedom, but I don’t want it. Something deep within me wants to give that freedom away. I want to give that freedom away to the man who will one day be my husband. I want to begin to make sacrifices for him. When I discover I cannot, I try to give up that freedom in whatever way I can think of. I begin to think God is calling me to the religious life or consecrated singlehood. Because, by golly, I’m ready to give up my freedom.

Sheen also quotes G. K. Chesterton as saying, “If man were not free, he could never say, ‘Thank you for the mustard.’” Those thanks are for two reasons: one, because the giver is free to give, and two, because the receiver is free to accept. God, in his goodness and omnipotence, has complete freedom. As Christ asks, what father would give his son a snake when he asks for a fish? Our Father knows how to give us what is good, and He does so. Our acceptance is also free. We all know what it is to receive a gift that we don’t really want. We try to hide our disappointment; we look for whatever good quality we can find, and we graciously say thank you, not because we want to lie about our gift or our feelings, but because of the goodness of the giver who deserves our thanks regardless of whether we appreciate the gift. How much more then does God, who is goodness itself, deserve our thanks?

My freedom is a gift from him. Yes, he did give it in order that I could give it away, but I must give it in the way that He intends, not refuse it because it is not yet time for me to give my freedom in the way that I desire. The Lord has given me the gift of freedom. In return, he deserves thanks. I will give him this thanks, not because I must, but because I am free to.

chronicles of loneliness

I was beginning to think that my friends had given up on me. Here I was, for the umpteenth Friday night in a row, with nothing to do. It's okay, I didn't really have time to do anything anyway. I needed to get to sleep so that I could wake up early and study this morning. It just would be nice... if I felt like maybe someone did want to spend time with me. Maybe if someone said, "I know you're busy, but let's just get dinner, we won't take long."

Then the phone call. "Hey, do you want to watch the Incredibles with us?" My roommate says, "Is that who I think it is? Oh yeah, I was thinking of asking if you wanted to join us; I guess the rest of them had the same idea." Someone wants to be with me! I feel like I haven't seen my roommate in weeks, and I know I haven't seen the rest of them in weeks. Oh, why not? I can postpone my bedtime a little bit.

So I go, tired, still feeling a little bit sorry for myself, but looking forward to spending some time with friends I haven't seen in a while. And as I look around and see that I'm the car's fifth wheel, and as I walk with the two hand-holding couples to my friend's apartment, and as I try to figure out where to sit so that I'm not in anyone's way while we watch the movie, my loneliness begins to shift. It's good to hear a human voice, to see the faces of those I love, but there is an open wound that has been getting a little too much salt recently. I am no longer alone, but somehow I feel more alone than before. I'm not handling this graciously; I just want to leave.

I excuse myself from the group and go home. After all, it is past my bedtime. As I walk, I call my sister. My sister, my Marianne, how good it is to hear her voice! And suddenly, I know what it is that I want: I want someone who loves me enough, not just to hang out with me on a Friday night when she happens to be free, but someone who will make time for me any Friday night that I need her; I want someone who I can trust with anything, with every part of my life and who wants to share hers with me.

My loneliness begins to shift again. With my sister, I have all of that. I have the best friend I could ever wish for... 1800 miles away. Why so far, my Marianne? Oh, I know I'm the one who left. And I question again - is it worth it? Can questions of the collective motions of protons and electrons possibly justify leaving my home, my family, those I love best? Could this really be what God has asked of me?

Night comes and morning follows, a cloud still hanging over me. I hear my other roommate. Why is she up so early? I should be getting up. The doorbell rings. Her boyfriend is over. It's 7 am, and the last thing I want to see is another couple that can't keep their hands off each other [This isn't a fair characterization, but such are my thoughts when I'm grumpy at 7 am on a Saturday]. Morning can wait; the covers are back over my head.

It's late. I've missed the morning Mass I was planning on, so I have to look for another. I am walking past Our Lady of Fatima shrine. It is closed, but outside are statues, trees, flowers and birds - those things I see so rarely in the middle of the city. The rain falls lightly, rhythmically, like my tears last night. There are so many different birds; I wish I knew their names! I love the raindrops on the leaves, the pine trees with a tiny pearl of water at the end of each needle.

As the Lord has done before, He points to the birds and the flowers to show me His steadfast love and care for His creation. Each tiny part of His creation is beautiful to me - how much more beautiful to Him who created them! Each subatomic particle that I study is precious to Him - how much more precious is each of us who is made in His image and likeness!

It is here, listening to the wind and the rain and the birds, that my loneliness begins to shift again. In the past day, it has shifted to every corner of my heart illuminating empty cavities whose existence I had tried to deny, but now it shifts outside, out away from my self-pity, out where it can soak up the rain, where it can be refreshed by the warm breeze, out to where it can do some good: to the foot of the cross. There at Calvary is the loneliest, the most exposed, and the holiest place on Earth, and it is there that my loneliness belongs.

Perhaps this loneliness is not going to go away any time soon, but perhaps it doesn't need to. "When your heart has fallen raise it gently, humbling yourself before God, acknowledging your fault, but not surprised at your fall. Infirmity is infirm, weakness weak, and frailty frail," said St. Francis de Sales. So I take these empty caverns in my heart and ask the Lord to fill them with Him. I take the little bit of strength I have left and trust that God can multiply it to do His will.

So the land of loneliness is the land of intense peace and a strange joy. But God does not yet allow loneliness to be eliminated from peace and joy. That will come after death... The loneliness of God is a creative loneliness... When you discuss loneliness and come to think about it, think about the loneliness of Christ, of God - the loneliness that God gave us to bring us to himself.
~Catherine Doherty