There are sacred moments when the world seems to stop spinning for a moment, when the sun shines and the rain falls simultaneously in perfect measure, when your memories of love are sweet. And so as merry as that sacredness, so is it then most sorry, the love that gives way to sorrow. It is like a pill to swallow. It is the taste of your very stubborn will finally letting something precious go, and if you can imagine it: the successful pirate who was just told he must give up his treasure! It’s a bitter pill: bitter and liberating.
Here is the bitter: the wretchedness of having once been bound to someone, and having known the joys of love, but then to have that seal which bound you to them forcefully ripped off your fleshly heart as they return to dust. (I have not known this, but witnessed it)
Or the wretchedness of loving someone who could never love you back: the love you couldn’t help but pour inevitably into that blessed tunnel of someone else, where each strand of wanting waits for some sort of answer, but reaching further into the seeming void only reverberates the dark walls of that space. Unable feeling answers back, returning the same currents of longing which were poured forth. As each rejected wave reenters the lover’s heart it slashes the surface with the force of a whip, penetrating the surface until pink and raw, as skin when it is lacerated.
There are too those most worthy surrenders which are made for the sake of the good of common man (as exhibited by the life of Dorothy Day or Mother Theresa or other such saints). The lingering sorrow which presents itself in the willing surrender of love is as the love which is unwillingly laid down through death or rejection. It is still like a hunger that goes on for many days and doesn’t quite go away.
I must say that the pleasure that flows from these tales of sorrowful love does not come from some twisted sort of self inflicted sadism. Rather, it is that ironically so, in these tragedies, through these very pains, there is some sort of deeper something planted in the soul. It is the something which springs forth from the loss of comfort and the emptiness of longing that has the very potential to evoke such irrevocably true desires within the soul. There is this so thoroughly un-hollow, pure desire that springs forth from the soul which could never be answered through a successful love-story in this life.
And Here is the light: the blessedness of waking up to a radiant love which caresses your hair with its soft beams and offers you life to flush through your organs and warm your bones. It is not strictly physical well-being, nor is it simply comfort. But it is perfectness. It is life lived through the only One who is truly worthy.
It is the sweetest song, dancing always between depth and height, length and width, surpassing the longest distance, crossing the highest wall, plunging through the thickest barrier.
Here are the words on the most ancient pages of your heart, revealed. The best dream, the most fantastic longing, written up before your eyes. It could never have come true in your 85 years on Earth. It wasn’t a marriage, it wasn’t children, it wasn’t a successful ministry. It was this.
For here He is: the bitter-sweet Man. The Sad Man, the joyful King. The blessed son of God and the cursed son of Man; And I believe He was the desire I had felt so truly when I was living in a world that was vulnerable to evil. There, given the grace to understood the consequences of man’s choice, and still too, to know what’s it like to go through years untouched and burning.
Here you are now, here you have come, to see the happiness.
Light coming forth in soft currents from His eyes. Mercy that is tangible in His awesome stature. The awe of ages past now present before all mankind. This is your Maker.
He is awful, and terrifying because He’s unlike anything or anyone else. Yet He has known mankind. He too was wounded. And in awe, Adam looks upon the faint marks on his brother’s flesh, from where the Maker’s skin had once been lacerated.
I hope that I’m not being cheesy, that the point that I am making is not simply that Christ redeems our sorrows. It is more than that, I think. It is that somehow because He has wired us to be alive in Him, and wired His Kingdom to be fueled by the satisfaction that He Is. (and not only offers) …That Christ is indeed given to us, not only for us…and so when my life here on Earth in my late 20’s isn’t what I want it to look like. When I lose at obtaining the kind of love most photographers make their salaries off of capturing, I am very much hopeful of the kind of life which isn’t contained or constrained to this one. The life which is so very much connected to the Kingdom which is still to come, where the best dream of all comes verily true.