Wednesday, May 8, 2013

one who has hope writes differently


”This is man! He is not transparent, not monumental, not simple. In fact he is poor.”
—Karol Wojtyla, The Jeweler’s Shop

 All of us are constantly seeking signs.
We are always searching for clues that tell us what path in life we should take; that tell us what God’s will is for us.
We look for signs: signs that tell us which job is the one for us; if that house is the right one for us; which classes we’re supposed to be in; how our test will go; whether that certain someone likes us back; what road we should take.
It is the nature of poor, impoverished man to embark on searches for meaning in the most mundane things.

Signs literally infest the world around us, if only we have eyes willing to see them.
We have a word, however, for miracles we'd like to write off as meaningless. 
We decide to call them "coincidence." 
Gratitude, however, dispenses with coincidence in one fell, Beowulf-slaying-Grendel-type swoop

How funny, then, that the greatest sign ever given to man by the Father now goes by the name "Thanksgiving."
Emmanuel, I think we could argue, would be the greatest entrance of God into the world.
Emmanuel, now under the alias Eucharist, serves as a sign that we might never want for a sign of love.
How could we ever need another sign of love when we are daily presented with the incarnation of the greatest sacrifice Love ever underwent?
Well, (breaking news) we are sort of human.
(Alert the BBC: Female Blogger Says Humans Have A Human Nature)
We, as strange little temporal beings, get caught up too easily in the many little worries and stresses of each day, and we forget. 

let loose your suckers and relent
--a zoologist, teaching Octopi the Gospel of receiving vs. grasping.


We forget that something greater than Solomon is here in our midst. 
We are not living in the same world that the Ninevites or the queen of the south were living in; we are living in a world that Love itself has entered into, redeemed, and in which he has taken up his residence. 
We are living in a world filled with signs of love. 
We miss them all too often.
For we are too focused on living in chronos, and watching our lives pass by in succeeding moments. We forget the other sort of time, the species of time that Madeleine L'Engle calls kairos.
Kairos, she says is Real time. Eternal time. Time not experienced as one moment following another, but just experienced.
Kairos is when we are lifted out of ourselves, by love, by praise, by thanksgiving.
Perhaps kairos is the Real and Wild and Dangerous that throbs just below the mundane surface of our lives.
And perhaps those signs we find are the eruptions of kairos, bursting through that shell of ordinary.


"'Course he's not safe, but he's good. He's not a tame lion."
--C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

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