April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
REFLECTION
Am I in love with God?
I considered this question at length, trying to discern what it means to be in love with God. I started to identify the prescription for being in love -- something I have never done before because I, too often, just "fell."
I started to excuse my lack of devotion to God based on my limited humanness, and began to convince myself that, if I am not in love with God, it is because we had never met!
As I walked on, I noticed spiderwebs that were cast like fishing nets in the branches of saplings, illuminated by morning light and dew, and I identified my feelings for God: I know I am humble in the presence of our Lord; I believe in God enough to request that He "help my unbelief;" I honor and respect the Trinity; I admire and want to protect the man called Christ.
But am I in love with Him? No.
Why is that? Certainly, I have fallen in love with other men that I have never met, their reputations being enough. I was once enamored with Henry Miller, the American author who pioneered a type of autobiographical novel that involved character study, social criticism, philosophical reflection, sex, surrealist free association and mysticism.
I often imagined what it would be like to take a walk with him, spend the evening in a pub with him, cook a meal for him, catch him misbehaving, watch him at his desk writing. I found myself searching for any information I could find about his life. I collected and read the words he wrote, studied his drawings, familiarized myself with memoirs written by his friends and associates and coveted the lilt in his voice, captured in ancient recorded interviews.
It was clear I had fallen for this man I had never met -- a man who had died before I had even read the title of his famed novel, "Tropic of Cancer."
Is this what causes one to fall in love: insatiable curiosity, fascination, admiration, attraction to qualities seen in another that one recognizes and appreciates in oneself?
Then there was my preoccupation with the mystic, writer and Catholic priest, Thomas Merton. I read books by and about Merton. I studied his photographs and listened to his lectures repeatedly, teasing out his particular kind of brilliance.
I chased after Thomas Merton in much the same fashion as I had Henry Miller. Merton died when I was five. I mention Miller and Merton in contrast to my heretofore inability to fall in love with Jesus, because my feelings for these strangers refute my defense that "I never met Him."
The obstacle to my pursuing Jesus as I have Merton and Miller may be that, until now, for me, being in love culminates with a union between lovers. But must true love be realized only through conjoining?
Try applying the behaviors you exhibited the last time you fell in love as you turn toward God.
(Ms. Augusto attends Sacred Heart parish in Stamford and blogs at www.letitallstarthere.com.)[[In-content Ad]]
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