My Defense of Love: Part One

I’ve been sitting here for a good hour or two trying to figure out what exactly I want to say. Hopefully, I’ve at long last honed in on something worth reading. I’m going to let you all inside my head for a moment.

This is only part one. The others will come at some point – probably in the wake of experiences similar to the one precipitating this one. My mother is perpetually skeptical of people being open about their lives in public spaces; she has good reason to be! But a person is a person through other persons, nonetheless, and I have learned something I absolutely must share with you.

This is my defense of love.

The Prayer of St. Francis has one particular phrase that has always captured my attention. (The whole prayer is beautiful and arresting, mind you, but this portion is – for me – particularly fascinating.)

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.

It’s beautifully paradoxical, isn’t it? And it’s equally as difficult to live out. We so very often desire to be loved rather than to have opportunities in which we can love others. It’s not that desiring to be loved is an unnatural or even un-Christian quality; after all, C. S. Lewis wrote often of what he termed “joy,” or the “desire for desire,” which is an integral part of human relationship with the Divine. And the prayer doesn’t say that desire is bad.

Rather, the Prayer of St. Francis reveals to us the most fulfilling way to satisfy our desire. It continues,

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. Amen.

This makes no sense. But I’m here to tell you this really is the way it works.

There are a few among you who know that this past Sunday night, I got in my mother’s convertible, put the top down, blasted I Guess That’s Why They Call it The Blues, and went to get my rear-end kicked by love. For the rest of you, now you know the facts. She knows them now too. (And that’s all I’ve got to say about that!)

I’m not going to sit here and tell you it was fun. I am, however, going to tell you it was beautiful, in its own strange way. And I’ll assure you it was worth it.

Now, it wasn’t at a time of my choosing, and it wasn’t via a method of my preference. This is a perfect example of what I’m always trying to get across to people: we are radically but not completely free. We are radically free inasmuch as we always have choices, but we are not completely free inasmuch as we never have all the choices. Life deals us certain cards; it’s up to us to play them.

In any event, I don’t want this to turn into an essay on philosophy. I want this to be my new manifesto – and yours too, if you are so inclined:

Love like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t worry about whether or not it’s going to hurt; it likely will. Love anyway.

Here are my reasons:

• Jesus loved (loves) us like there was no tomorrow. It hurt – all the way through Gethsemane to the cross at Calvary. He loved (loves) us anyway.
• It is in giving that we receive, in pardoning that we are pardoned, and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
• God is love, and whoever loves abides in God and God abides in them (1 Jn 4.16).

Thus, if you want to have an encounter with God, love someone – a friend, an enemy, a parent, a sibling, your beloved, a teacher. Anybody. In the words of one of my very favorite hymns, God is love, and wherever true love is, God himself is there. It is in our very best interest, therefore, to love deeply, fully, and with reckless abandon.

All this love business isn’t for sissies, however. Believe me, it takes real courage and discipline to live in this way – courage and discipline I often lack. Jesus himself knew that this new way of living would challenge the powers-that-be in the world – and would, in fact, challenge every single one of us, in all our insecurities and frailties (cf. Mt 10.34-39).

But thankfully for us, the Crucifixion is a freedom event; it sets us free of a great many things, not the least of which is our fear. Good Friday and the empty tomb after it empower us both to love recklessly and to give of ourselves without thought of the consequences. Death itself has died; love, therefore, like there’s no tomorrow. (Yes it’s a paradox; I intend it to be so.)

What’s beautiful is that when we love in this way, we become – in the words of St. Francis’ prayer – the instruments of God’s peace. We sow love where there is hatred, pardon where there is injury, faith where there is doubt, hope where there is despair, light where there is darkness, and joy where there is sadness. You see, the funny thing about Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s well-worn maxim “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” is that, having put that maxim to practice in one’s life, one finds that loving is – in and of itself – its own reward.

You’re probably saying, “Is this even humanly possible, Justin?” Yes, yes, and thousand-times “yes!” To this end, I commend Pope Benedict XVI and his brilliant encyclical letter, Deus Caritas Est, to you:

Anyone who wishes to give love must also receive love as a gift. Certainly, as the Lord tells us, one can become a source from which rivers of living water flow (cf. Jn 7:37-38). Yet to become such a source, one must constantly drink anew from the original source, which is Jesus Christ, from whose pierced heart flows the love of God (cf. Jn 19:34).

As the Pope states earlier in his encyclical, all love, then – whether of a beloved, a friend, a family member, an enemy, a pet, or otherwise – is a response to God loving us. Truly, “we love because he first loved us” (cf. 1 Jn 4.19). That’s the way it works.

Love (the sort of which we may now rightfully call “divine”) doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, but whatever it is, it’s right.

And through it all, I pray the words of Charles Wesley:

Finish then, thy new creation; pure and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation, perfectly restored in thee.
Changed from glory into glory ’till in Heaven we take our place.
‘Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.

For then all shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Amen.

–J.

Justin loves comments. And if you leave a comment, his sister Olivia will bake you a cookie. (Disclaimer: cookie is not guaranteed; Olivia is highly unpredictable, and Justin will probably eat it himself anyway.)