Today is my 41st birthday. As I meditated this morning on the passage of time, I have to admit I am no longer a "young man," but neither am I old. If I'm very lucky, I've reached the halfway point. In some ways, I'm probably at the pinnacle of my health and at an extremely satisfying life point professional and personally.
I am also tremendously grateful for the spiritual graces God has bestowed on me. Like most people, my inner world is a mess in all kinds of ways, but each day I feel some greater measure of Christ's peace in my heart. My prayer life is more stable and gratifying. I am able to pray for others and have greater wisdom in what to pray for and how. I try to say this with humility because I know I'm probably one illness or tragedy away from a complete meltdown, and will probably stub my toe and unleash some fury of anger and pent-up rage later today. That's why I'm grateful for moments when I can, through grace, have some clarity.
One bit of clarity came recently while reading an essay by R. R. Reno in First Things. Reno was reflecting on the ancient Latin poem, On the Nature of Things, which celebrated Greek philosopher Epicurus. Reno contrasted Epicurus' materialist worldview, which recommended a dispassionate detachment from all material things as the key to happiness (paradoxically an approach that appeals to many of today's materialist, secular, atheist thinkers) with the path of the ancient Christian fathers, especially St. Augustine.
Augustine shared with Epicurus a sense that this life, with all its joys and beauty, was nevertheless ultimately disatisfying to the human heart. Inner peace could not be achieved through outward attachments, acquisitions, or accomplishments. Rather, says Reno, Augustine's path to peace was through radical attachment - to God. Augustine's was the path of love, which Reno poetically calls "the way of enchanment:"
"Let my bones," Augustine prays with an ardor that evokes the profound desire that suffuses the Song of Songs, "be penetrated by your love." His prayer is answered. After his conversion he writes, "You pierced my heart with the arrow of your love."This all resonated with me powerfully. For quite some time now I've been praying for a deeper conversion of heart, but I've been framing it in terms of some kind of transformation of self that I want God to work in me. I have prayed for greater peace, for more gratitude, for more joy, for more spontenaeity, all of which are good things, but I've been seeking these things as one might seek out a mechanic to fix one's broken car.
This divine arrow--which is a direct reference to Cupid and Venus that fuses the entire ancient pagan fascination with the enslaving power of love to the Old Testatment's nuptial vision--cures Augustine's restless, troubled soul. "Suddenly," he writes, "it had become sweet to me to be without the sweets of folly. What I had once feared to lose was now a delight to dismiss." Like a fire that clears the field of weeds, the fierce heat of love burns away his distracting, dissipating worldly desires, bringing him to rest in an arresting desire to abide in Christ. It is a paradox, but not an unfamiliar one. The burning passion of love makes us stable, which is to say, tranquil. Under love's enchanting spell we rest in that which we love.
This is not the way of enchantment. God calls us into relationship. This is what I've been missing, but what I've in fact been seeking all along. I want to grow in love, a love that is born of deep communion with Christ, in adoring and delighting in him and, in turn, allowing him to adore and delight in me. If I grow in love, then all the other things I seek - peace, gratitude, joy - will come too, as fruits of that mutually shared and celebrated love. This is the essence of Christian discipleship as I've come to understand it.
And so perhaps in my forty-second year, I will simply pray to fall more deeply in love with the One who first loved me.
This prayer from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, whose feast day we observe today, speaks for my heart:
O my Lord Jesus Christ who was born for me in a stable, lived for me a life of pain and sorrow, and died for me upon a corss, say for me in the hour of my Death Father forgive, and to your Mother behold your child. Say to me yourself this day you shall be with me in Paradise. O my Savior, leave me not, forsake me not, I thirst for you and long for your fountain of living water -- my days pass quickly along, soon all will be consummated for me -- to your hands I commend my spirit, now and forever. Amen.
Unite me to yourself, O adorable victim, life-giving heavenly bread, feed me, sanctify me, reign in me, transform me to yourself -- live in me, and let me live in you, let me adore you in your life-giving sacraments as my God -- listen to you as to my Master -- obey you as my King -- imitate you as my Model -- follow you as my Shepherd -- love you as my Father -- seek you as my Physician who will heal all the maladies of my soul -- indeed my way, truth, and life, sustain me O heavely manna through the desert of this world, till I shall behold you unveiled in your glory.
Posts
1 comment:
Gary, this is the first of your posts that I have read. I must say I am impressed with the exhaustive references. I wish I could get to the point where 'it would be a delight to dismiss.' I would feel that prayers for anything even of spiritual could become mechanical. I am no expert on this matter but have learned to constantly seek to do better. My only original thought to add to this would be 'God calls us into relationship.' I use the defination of relationship as a 'pattern of interaction' not 'roles.' In the relationship with God, I have to remember my role but with other peeps I try to bring a loving and tolerant interaction. Peace out for now...
Post a Comment