The responsibility of love

Unintentionally, the last two novels I read (Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina...the latter I am still reading) contained women, those for whom the novels are named, whose marriages at some point went awry. Both women experienced a tremendous restlessness (Bovary on the very night of her wedding) that led them to seek something else that would fill the longing that marriage could not. And for both, great pain and an over-complicated life followed.

I reached a point yesterday in Anna Karenina when one of the male characters also wrestled with this point. He found himself slightly irritated by his wife. He had been called to tend to some personal business and she wanted to accompany him. Thinking that she would only get in the way, he refused. But she persisted: “Then why did you marry me? You could have been free. Why did you, if you regret it?” In the end, they went together and she brought a feminine tenderness to the situation that he did not possess.

All this “novel” drama is to point to the fact that when need is shared and when longing is followed in community, particularly in the communion of marriage, it becomes fruitful. But this can only be if a sacrifice is made: a sacrifice to stay with what God has given. In simple ways it means being faithful to the challenges of everyday life: to sickness and sadness and joy and beauty. Fidelity to these things and to the people who surround us makes us capable of a greater love that we seem to think is always somewhere else.

This is the beauty of Our Lady. She was ever-faithful to the circumstances of life and she is faithful to us. She who embraced the Son of God embraces us in a communion that exalts every struggle and gives direction to every desire. How beautiful is Our Lady and how beautiful is her faithfulness to us!

The More Loving One

For several months now, I have had in my Notes on my phone this poem by W.H. Auden entitled “The More Loving One”. I can’t exactly remember why I copied it there, but today I read it again.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

There’s a certain sadness to it: the recognition that were the stars to stop shining in the heavens one would learn to stare at nothing but darkness above. 

But it’s the desire to be the more loving one that catches me. I would like to think that I am a grateful person: expressing my gratitude and being mindful of the gifts given. Still, I’m quite sure I am not the more loving one compared to the One who places all things before me every day. Quite regularly I walk by beauty without giving a second look; though I can’t be blamed for being incapable of the impossible task of absorbing the fullness of beauty present in each moment. 

And yet there’s something still in me that wants to be the more loving one: the one who notices when a beauty that was there before is there no longer; the one who feels sadness for such a loss and still keeps looking for the newness that follows it.

Though I know deep down that I can never be, still in front of the richness of reality, I hope that the more loving one might be me.

A mutual friend

Fairly regularly it happens that I meet someone with whom I share a mutual friend. The realization usually comes after saying where I’m from or what I do. That look of hope comes across the face of the other person and they ask, “Oh, then you must know N.” And the look on their face tells me whether it’s a good thing I know N. or a bad thing that I know N. That look says a lot. 

This evening I was in adoration at the seminary next to my temporary residence here in Auckland and as I was looking at Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, I thought of Him looking at me and I thought of Him looking at all my friends wherever they are in the world. By sitting in front of Him in adoration I am, in some way, sharing in the gaze of Jesus: a gaze of tenderness that he shows to all those who look upon Him. He is our mutual friend.
I had the same thought earlier in the day when I was sitting along the shores of Devonport across from Auckland. It was a beautiful day with the sun dancing off the water and the sailboats gently rocking with the waves. And it occurred to me that the same Lord who holds these things in existence is also holding in existence the barge-traveled banks of the Ohio where sits the beautiful city of Evansville. In some way, to look at this bit of creation with attention and wonder, I am in some way brother to the one who sits in Evansville and does the same. It is the work of the same Lord and His tenderness is shown through both.

The fact is that He is looking at me...always. With those eyes of mercy He is always looking at me through the visible reality He has created and holds in existence. If we can be friends in no other way, we can be friends in this: He is looking at both of us. His mercy is the same for us both. Perhaps we can spare a moment to look back in wonder.

The sabbatical begins

After 24 hours on some delightful airplane seats I arrived here in Christchurch, New Zealand. This is a brief stop as I make my way to Auckland on Sunday. Driving past the cornfields and golden fields of wheat, there is a striking resemblance to Indiana. Though with the mountains in the distance to the north and the ocean guarding the way to the south, the likeness fades pretty quickly. 

I was greeted by my good priest friend, Fr. John, who has already been a gracious host to me and is helping me to get situated as the jet lag wears off. 

Tomorrow I will concelebrate a Mass honoring Fr. John’s uncle of 90 years, who continues to faithfully minister as a priest. 

I got a head start on all those who are joining me for the total consecration to Mary since I am 19 hours ahead. Today I was moved by the words “Desire and generosity are key ingredients to making a successful retreat.” I am praying that we (starting with myself) can be honest with our desire and, by offering ourselves for others, come to see the fruitfulness that God wants to provide. 

Sabbaticaling

Tomorrow I will start my roughly 34 hours of travel to New Zealand. This graced time of sabbatical—made possible by a Clergy Renewal Grant through the Lilly Foundation—will be an opportunity for rest and renewal. 

For those who thought I started my sabbatical a couple weeks ago, you are not mistaken. This past week I spent time at the NY Encounter, a cultural event hosted by the movement Communion and Liberation. I would encourage a visit to the website of the Encounter and perhaps even watching recordings of the presentations on their YouTube channel. 

I will be spending this time with a good priest friend of mine in Auckland. My time will be focused on a few elements: (1) renewing my relationship with the Blessed Virgin Mary—a relationship that was profoundly fruitful in seminary and now needs my attention; (2) spending time reading good literature, which has always served as a great help to my preparation for preaching; and (3) enjoying the beauty of this distant land and taking better care of my physical health. 

I’ve invited members of my parish to join me in reading 33 Days to Morning Glory as we prepare ourselves for consecration to Mary on the Annunciation of the Lord. More information can be found here. I’ve also started reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, the first on my list of books to read. I have tried not to create too long of a list of books so that I don’t get caught up trying to get them all read.

As I pray for my friends and family and parishioners I leave behind during this time, I ask for your prayers as well.