Da Mi Amare, Domine
"Musa, Musa, quid est tua cura?"
I brought my eyes back from the window, out of which I had been staring, unseeing, in silent and desperate prayer.
How could I explain the thing to Simile? Her eyes were blue for the moment, though they could also be gray and green--eyes like the sea. I smiled, a little. How I am looking forward to taking my Longaevi for their first view of the Atlantic! Only one more week to go...
One more week. I groaned. "Vincor, Simile, ab libris."
"What books?" She asked. "What are they saying?"
"Oh... multa. Too much. I have to learn them all by heart, it seems, and I have not the strength, interest, or energy for it. I don't know what to do. I am a little sad and a little lonely, and I miss my family."
She began to croon, which is the Longaevi way of expressing comfort. It is a little like purring, only more musical. Simile stroked my hair, and gave me what was, to her, the universal elixir to all evils. "Let us ask Paradoxus. Paradoxus will know what you should do."
How can you explain to a Longaevi that her big brother doesn't have all the answers? My week has been, is, and will continue to be a brutal one. I did not care to disillusion a sweet, beautiful, silver-haired fairy about her adored elder sibling. Besides, I could not prove that Paradoxus did not have a good solution for my failing spirits.
"Ita, ita..." I murmured. "By all means, ask Paradoxus."
She lilted off, happy about her errand. I watched her go. Ah, cara--if only our dear ones had all the answers. But they don't. Prayer will be far more effective.
I leant my head against the window-frame, and wanted to cry, and did not cry. I will be home soon, soon, and I must remember this, and must believe it. I will be in my own room again before I know it. I shall be cuddling Marjorie and talking for hours with Mama and laughing with Danya and discussing anything--everything in the world!--with Daddy...
So there are two papers and three exams this week. So? Bring them; what have I to fear? I know that I have studied, and shall continue to study, and will acquit myself in accordance with my preparation and God's will, and leave the field with the honor of my family name and my Christian witness intact.
That would have been enough, in my Freshman year. I well remember the elation of seeing my name on the President's List as a Freshman. It isn't enough in my Junior year. Try again.
I have new friends, dear friends, whom I have loved and who have loved me. I have served and grown in serving this year. I have learned what it means to give self-sacrificially. I have obeyed God's first and second commandments. Augustine suggests, in his Confessions, that all of Scripture ought to be interpreted via the principle of the two highest commandments: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love thy neighbor as thyself.
It is the latter area in which I have grown, but such growth flows from the former. The more I love God, the more I love God's people. Simple? Yes, but profound. I used to think that holiness meant separation. "Separate unto God. Keep out." That is what I thought. I was afraid that if I gave, I would fall apart. I wasn't strongly enough rooted in Christ to realize that giving never destroys, not if we are firmly placed beside the fountainhead. Let the living water flow to me, through me, let me be a conduit of grace.
I was reading 1 John yesterday, or the day before. One thing which continually astonishes me about that book: John speaks of holiness, loving God, and loving others, all in the same breath. He exhorts me to holiness, and in the next moment exhorts me to love my brother. Indeed, there is for him no separation between the two. We are studying monasticism in Topics in Bible just now. These monks seem to have forgotten that they are to be IN the world, though not OF the world. I think that we long to separate ourselves from the world because we fear that it will engulf us; but that is not what we are called to.
John does not pretend that the world has no enticement. He says, "do not love the world, or anything in the world" (1 John 2:15-17, if memory serves). But nowhere are we commanded to retreat from loving; if anything, we are exhorted to it.
And by "loving" I do not mean that nebulous warm and fuzzy attitude towards others. I mean a very fruitful verb. I mean not only editing papers and giving back rubs and so on... those things are practical ways of loving, but they are not the heart of fellowship. By "loving" I mean praying for my girls, encouraging them to seek Christ as their first love, preaching the Gospel to them and to myself in their presence, and urging them to preach it to me. I mean pointing them, and being pointed by them, continually back to that fountainhead of which I spoke earlier. I mean by "loving" that I am always saying to them, "Ecce homo!" Behold the man upon the tree, my sin upon his shoulders.
I mean, I suppose, that in every circumstance I ought to be joyfully longing after Christ, yet content to live in the world serving him. I ought to be giving thanks for--since every trial draws us nearer to God--and acknowledging--for who can deny our heartache?--the pain of life here in this world in the same breath. Enthusiastic encouragement and gentle correction ought both to come from me, regularly. I ought to be able to say, "do you know that I am for you? Do you know that I see God at work in your life, that God IS at work in your life, and that God will be faithful to COMPLETE his work in your life?" Then I ought to be able to give specific encouragement: "I see the Lord at work in you because you have become more humble these last few weeks with respect to your schoolwork; you don't seem as obsessed with your grades as you were before."
All this, and so much more, is loving. This is so much more than grades or schoolwork. I love to learn, love it passionately. There was a time in my life when I loved it more than God, family, or friends. In his mercy, the Lord rescued me from that idol, and I will not return to it. I know that it is nowhere commanded "thou shalt love thy textbook" as it is commanded "thou shalt love thy neighbor." I do love my textbooks, my Latin and literature, my silver words in settings of gold, as Homer might call them. I love a clever phrase, a beautiful expression, a melodious speech. The words of Shakespeare and Dante and Plato--are they not sweet to me? Am I not one who goes about with Euripides on my tongue? But these things, delightful as they are, can never be the deepest stuff of life.
The meaning of life, according to Dr. Hake, is simply: people who love one another living together. I love God; I shall live with God; I do live with God in that Christ indwells me; that is all my hope. I love my family and friends, God's people and God's elect, and those whose restless hearts are not yet drawn to the heart of God. I need the people whom God has given me for my good, for my growth and sanctification, that I may serve them and imitate the love of Christ by loving them.
I am going home to my dear ones, and that means more to me than any grade on earth. I shall return to learn more loving and serving--for I am aware of how imperfectly I have done both this last year--in the fall, and I am more excited about that than even about Novel class this fall. Once, all my thought would have been for the chance to take a class in writing fiction, which is all I have wanted to do since I was 13. Once, it would have consumed my imagination. But now I look forward principally to seeing again my dear friends this fall, to watching them grow up into Christ, and perhaps, if he allows, to have a part in that growth.
Oh, this is exciting! I was born to write, yes. Were I Eric Liddel with my own gifts, I would say, "when I write, I feel God's pleasure." I was born with the gift of expression, and I want so badly to hone that gift, to give it an edge and wings and color and power and soft persuasiveness and every good thing. But if I have the tongues of men and of angels... and have not love...
What good is speech without love? I, who have lived so long afraid to love, who have so long avoided it, who have so long pretended that I could become a sort of nun and still obey God, I bow my head in silence, and lift it up to make a new prayer. I do not say, "Lord, make me a great writer." I say now, "Lord, make me a lover after Christ's own love. Let me love you above what words can express, and let me love all whom you give me to love. Piper says that human love consists in being willing to lay down even our lives so that another may come to be enthralled with that which is for their best and greatest joy--that is, you, my Lord. Let me be one who, in gazing at you, is able nevertheless to draw others towards you, because they see in me that I am filled with a consuming fire, and they long to come and warm their restless hearts at that blaze."
And if I err in my ways and beliefs, give me humility to see it, for my whole purpose is bent on you. In my life be glorified, and I ask nothing more!
I brought my eyes back from the window, out of which I had been staring, unseeing, in silent and desperate prayer.
How could I explain the thing to Simile? Her eyes were blue for the moment, though they could also be gray and green--eyes like the sea. I smiled, a little. How I am looking forward to taking my Longaevi for their first view of the Atlantic! Only one more week to go...
One more week. I groaned. "Vincor, Simile, ab libris."
"What books?" She asked. "What are they saying?"
"Oh... multa. Too much. I have to learn them all by heart, it seems, and I have not the strength, interest, or energy for it. I don't know what to do. I am a little sad and a little lonely, and I miss my family."
She began to croon, which is the Longaevi way of expressing comfort. It is a little like purring, only more musical. Simile stroked my hair, and gave me what was, to her, the universal elixir to all evils. "Let us ask Paradoxus. Paradoxus will know what you should do."
How can you explain to a Longaevi that her big brother doesn't have all the answers? My week has been, is, and will continue to be a brutal one. I did not care to disillusion a sweet, beautiful, silver-haired fairy about her adored elder sibling. Besides, I could not prove that Paradoxus did not have a good solution for my failing spirits.
"Ita, ita..." I murmured. "By all means, ask Paradoxus."
She lilted off, happy about her errand. I watched her go. Ah, cara--if only our dear ones had all the answers. But they don't. Prayer will be far more effective.
I leant my head against the window-frame, and wanted to cry, and did not cry. I will be home soon, soon, and I must remember this, and must believe it. I will be in my own room again before I know it. I shall be cuddling Marjorie and talking for hours with Mama and laughing with Danya and discussing anything--everything in the world!--with Daddy...
So there are two papers and three exams this week. So? Bring them; what have I to fear? I know that I have studied, and shall continue to study, and will acquit myself in accordance with my preparation and God's will, and leave the field with the honor of my family name and my Christian witness intact.
That would have been enough, in my Freshman year. I well remember the elation of seeing my name on the President's List as a Freshman. It isn't enough in my Junior year. Try again.
I have new friends, dear friends, whom I have loved and who have loved me. I have served and grown in serving this year. I have learned what it means to give self-sacrificially. I have obeyed God's first and second commandments. Augustine suggests, in his Confessions, that all of Scripture ought to be interpreted via the principle of the two highest commandments: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love thy neighbor as thyself.
It is the latter area in which I have grown, but such growth flows from the former. The more I love God, the more I love God's people. Simple? Yes, but profound. I used to think that holiness meant separation. "Separate unto God. Keep out." That is what I thought. I was afraid that if I gave, I would fall apart. I wasn't strongly enough rooted in Christ to realize that giving never destroys, not if we are firmly placed beside the fountainhead. Let the living water flow to me, through me, let me be a conduit of grace.
I was reading 1 John yesterday, or the day before. One thing which continually astonishes me about that book: John speaks of holiness, loving God, and loving others, all in the same breath. He exhorts me to holiness, and in the next moment exhorts me to love my brother. Indeed, there is for him no separation between the two. We are studying monasticism in Topics in Bible just now. These monks seem to have forgotten that they are to be IN the world, though not OF the world. I think that we long to separate ourselves from the world because we fear that it will engulf us; but that is not what we are called to.
John does not pretend that the world has no enticement. He says, "do not love the world, or anything in the world" (1 John 2:15-17, if memory serves). But nowhere are we commanded to retreat from loving; if anything, we are exhorted to it.
And by "loving" I do not mean that nebulous warm and fuzzy attitude towards others. I mean a very fruitful verb. I mean not only editing papers and giving back rubs and so on... those things are practical ways of loving, but they are not the heart of fellowship. By "loving" I mean praying for my girls, encouraging them to seek Christ as their first love, preaching the Gospel to them and to myself in their presence, and urging them to preach it to me. I mean pointing them, and being pointed by them, continually back to that fountainhead of which I spoke earlier. I mean by "loving" that I am always saying to them, "Ecce homo!" Behold the man upon the tree, my sin upon his shoulders.
I mean, I suppose, that in every circumstance I ought to be joyfully longing after Christ, yet content to live in the world serving him. I ought to be giving thanks for--since every trial draws us nearer to God--and acknowledging--for who can deny our heartache?--the pain of life here in this world in the same breath. Enthusiastic encouragement and gentle correction ought both to come from me, regularly. I ought to be able to say, "do you know that I am for you? Do you know that I see God at work in your life, that God IS at work in your life, and that God will be faithful to COMPLETE his work in your life?" Then I ought to be able to give specific encouragement: "I see the Lord at work in you because you have become more humble these last few weeks with respect to your schoolwork; you don't seem as obsessed with your grades as you were before."
All this, and so much more, is loving. This is so much more than grades or schoolwork. I love to learn, love it passionately. There was a time in my life when I loved it more than God, family, or friends. In his mercy, the Lord rescued me from that idol, and I will not return to it. I know that it is nowhere commanded "thou shalt love thy textbook" as it is commanded "thou shalt love thy neighbor." I do love my textbooks, my Latin and literature, my silver words in settings of gold, as Homer might call them. I love a clever phrase, a beautiful expression, a melodious speech. The words of Shakespeare and Dante and Plato--are they not sweet to me? Am I not one who goes about with Euripides on my tongue? But these things, delightful as they are, can never be the deepest stuff of life.
The meaning of life, according to Dr. Hake, is simply: people who love one another living together. I love God; I shall live with God; I do live with God in that Christ indwells me; that is all my hope. I love my family and friends, God's people and God's elect, and those whose restless hearts are not yet drawn to the heart of God. I need the people whom God has given me for my good, for my growth and sanctification, that I may serve them and imitate the love of Christ by loving them.
I am going home to my dear ones, and that means more to me than any grade on earth. I shall return to learn more loving and serving--for I am aware of how imperfectly I have done both this last year--in the fall, and I am more excited about that than even about Novel class this fall. Once, all my thought would have been for the chance to take a class in writing fiction, which is all I have wanted to do since I was 13. Once, it would have consumed my imagination. But now I look forward principally to seeing again my dear friends this fall, to watching them grow up into Christ, and perhaps, if he allows, to have a part in that growth.
Oh, this is exciting! I was born to write, yes. Were I Eric Liddel with my own gifts, I would say, "when I write, I feel God's pleasure." I was born with the gift of expression, and I want so badly to hone that gift, to give it an edge and wings and color and power and soft persuasiveness and every good thing. But if I have the tongues of men and of angels... and have not love...
What good is speech without love? I, who have lived so long afraid to love, who have so long avoided it, who have so long pretended that I could become a sort of nun and still obey God, I bow my head in silence, and lift it up to make a new prayer. I do not say, "Lord, make me a great writer." I say now, "Lord, make me a lover after Christ's own love. Let me love you above what words can express, and let me love all whom you give me to love. Piper says that human love consists in being willing to lay down even our lives so that another may come to be enthralled with that which is for their best and greatest joy--that is, you, my Lord. Let me be one who, in gazing at you, is able nevertheless to draw others towards you, because they see in me that I am filled with a consuming fire, and they long to come and warm their restless hearts at that blaze."
And if I err in my ways and beliefs, give me humility to see it, for my whole purpose is bent on you. In my life be glorified, and I ask nothing more!
posted by Praelucor at 4:36 PM
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