Essays On Forgiveness: Hope, Faith, and Love

I had to look this up.

1 Corinthians 13 (New International Version): Love

¹If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ²If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. ³If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

⁴Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. ¹¹When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. ¹²Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

I'm sort of ashamed that I first learned of this passage from a movie/book involving a dying woman straddling state lines. Then again the agonizing truth would be to admit crying when reading the novel--after purposely looking for the novel when it did come out in 2000. I have a perverse and morbid anger when it comes to clichés to be honest and the second section of this biblical passage is no exception. Well, up until now.

It has taken an estranged cousin reaching out from halfway across the world to make me examine my conscience by sharing his own stories. It seems wherever you are, love will find you and hurt you. That's why Cupid is drawn pulling on compound reflex bows and having a quiver of blood red arrows instead of tangoing about flinging rose petals and popcorn.

Fittingly enough, the last line of 1 Corinthians 13 sounds exactly like something I would write. In fact I have been jotting down complex bubble diagrams about these three things: faith, hope, and love. For many of us, these words have become cliché--once extremely meaningful, now just pandered about to fill spaces. For me the equation derived from these three words have become part of daily living.

Faith comes from the Latin fidem--Trust. A deep rooted trust in the solidity or reality of something or someone. To accept faith, I had to lose it first. When I was younger and had fallen in love for the first time, I had a rock solid belief that no matter how rough things got, my love would cast aside obstacles. I sought proof in the law and with authorities: judges, monsignors, even and finally, parents. I believed that prayers for a love born out of innocence were enough. That no matter how bleak it seemed it would work out and the relationship would grow. I knew then that He would not let me down. I knew for a fact that He would find a way. I trusted. He had other plans. I lost my faith then, and very nearly, my life.

Much later on I learned that to have real faith, one must first strive to understand the why and what of what they trust. With understanding, comes acceptance of real faith, as faith is an active living thing we must nurture.

Hope. You would think that hope would not be able to survive without faith, but it does. Life is biblical like that I guess. I wandered for a long time in a wilderness wherein I thought myself to be a mighty hunter. I created psalms for every season and ended up looking for grapes where there were none. I was alone and the only time I remembered to pray was before eating, sometimes not even then. One of my favorite cousins once told me after the umpteenth bad experience I had that if he was in my shoes he would have committed suicide after the first round. He also said that it was given to me because I could handle it. Made sense. Still does. In fact it materializes what hope is for me. The belief that things will turn out better no matter what. The patriarchs all seem to have gone through mandatory periods of un-faith if you do a survey of the old testament. For some of them: their flocks perished, their women become barren, and their kids left to work elsewhere. The others had it even worse: their flocks left for greener pastures, their tribes disbanded and sought out capitalism, and the women demanded monogamy. But, no matter how bad it got, it appears that they never lost hope as evidenced by their prayers.

I think I was born with hope built in as a standard. Which, point in fact, is part of the reason while I'm still alive to write this essay for you. I've never lost hope, so I hope that brings you comfort whenever things get really rough, so that you may have hope. Hope is a circular thing it appears.

At this point it may appear that hope and faith seem to be interchangeable things, if not directly linked. I reiterate though, that for faith, one must recognize and understand what they trust that they have faith in. You can't just look at the Flying Spaghetti Monster and stamp your foot and say you have faith in him. You have to find out what's in the meatballs first. Hope on the other hand, is something you can't quite get rid off. Try to imagine if you will, what 'Hope' had to do, to survive in Pandora's box. Hope apparently has mad ninja skills. Hope and faith are distinct and yet they are distinctly linked because without both one cannot have love.

The problem with Love is that it is both a verb and a noun. So given that, I leave it to you to figure out what it is for you. It's different for everyone. I'll tell you though, when its real, faith and hope are in attendance. When you do fall in love, you won't say, "I heart you." You'll probably be shaking at the knees and be so overwhelmed that it comes out as a croak at first. Then because you have faith in what you feel and because you hope that she will reply kindly--it becomes an actualizing statement.

If you look at 1 Corinthians 13 you'll notice that even Paul of Tarsus mostly describes rather than defines what love is directly. Closer reading shows that he was actually laying down the conditions for what Agape meant in relation to being a Christian and living a life of selfless love; worshipful love. See how confusing defining what love is can get? Plus Agape was probably pretty far down the list for those old patriarchs anyway, don't you think? They were probably too busy trading eyes and teeth. What strikes me about Agape in relation to love is that when you read about it you get a sense of prayerful action. I think that's the ticket actually. For me real love is like a living prayer. Hope and faith become bread and salt for the way of a pilgrim. That's what happens when you start dealing with these modern terms like Agape. You end up referencing obscure anonymous literary works that involve an equally anonymous guy muttering prayers all across Russia.

There must be a common ground between the old and new when understanding and accepting love. I posit that, that ground employs faith and hope as grass and soil. Love is what you make of that earth you've been given to nurture. And we are ennobled to nourish it with a simple equation through an active life of prayer. We pray in faith out of a hope for love.

The answer to that equation, becomes your life.

Essays On Forgiveness: When Is Enough?

"How long 'til my soul gets it right, can any human being ever reach that kind of light?"

-Galileo, Indigo Girls

The capacity to endure seems to be directly proportional to the capacity for suffering. One Psychology lesson I remember very clearly is that pain is a personal thing. That, people suffer pain differently and individually. A pinprick for one person may be anguish for another. Does it follow then that the capacity for feeling or sustaining 'love' is the same? I conjecture to link the two concepts.

This scenario was placed before me in the past in discussion to which type of relationship scenario is optimal:

A) You love the other person more than they love you,
B) The other person loves you more than you love them,
C) Or the above choices are re-stated but according to sex (e.g. boy loves girl more than girl loves boy).

Link this with the terms: endure, suffer, sustain, and feeling and you'll be in a virtual quagmire. Based on experience, I think the whole thing stinks. Being philosophical about who loves who more and who can handle who's crap more so, is akin to arguing who gets which chicken part come carving time. You should be happy about getting any chicken at all in the first place.

I may be able to endure more pain because of what you put me through and you may know it--but so what? It still hurts. You may have shown more love in the past--but so what? Are you showing it now? While it may be important to understand that the person is in pain and it may be of value to acquiesce and leave them be--what about the fact that time does not stop? Those days wasted arguing or regretting back and forth should have instead been spent in striving for something better. In the same way, internally fretting about who loves who more is time better spent praying for that person's health and well-being don't you think?

Is it really about who has the capacity to love more and then whether it should be the man or the woman who is more enduring or long suffering? Are these plus points in heaven? No, they are not.

If you believe in reincarnation then you will have an eternity to get it right. What a waste of time that would be. Don't you agree? Clarity comes from acceptance. The acceptance that when you are in a relationship your own love will be tested. And with that acceptance must come the humility to offer it up--no matter what happens next.

Tokens From A Heart Bled Dry: I Am Valentine's

St. Valentine's has always been my patron. The one annual figure stronger than the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, or even Santa. When I was young he lived in my mind as Cupid, as I got older his mythology enlarged to such a point that invoking him meant hope renewed. It will take an army to confront you with your own folly at being a hopeless romantic, believe me. And it will take that army years to make you admit that you are melancholy for it.

I can still clearly remember the crunch from the first bite into one of those heart shaped hard candies in ECLC. I don't think they make them anymore though, small pastel colored hard sugar with words like: love, sweetie, hearts, and cute pressed into them. Pressed into their hearts as it were. Then there was the first Valentine's card I ever received from my thoughtful mother, replete with hearts and glitter, as well. Shortly followed by cards from my two older sisters. It was a heady time--a child reveling in that first kind of innocent love. Red, white, and pink clothes de rigeur.

I remember a parade of Valentine's days--the countless botched Valentine's attempts of my youth in fact. Those I will share another time. What I want to recall is a particular Valentine's gift. The most important Valentine's Day Roses I had ever received--from my own sister--during one of those High School Send A Rose To Someone's Classroom Drives. I had never even considered being the recipient of roses throughout High School. Romance was for others, for me it was a hidden pain and an unrequited dream. Ditchie's gift of roses in 4th period Algebra during my sophomore year made me blush, but it taught me a valuable lesson. That perhaps the thoughtful love freely given by an older sister is the kind of love you should bring to the woman who accepts you. I took that lesson too deeply upon leaving High School I think. It also made me realize that being jealous of her having boyfriends was uncalled for. It made me realize that out of all of us, her brand of love was the best.

I also remember how Valentine's day was a secret link between my mother and myself in the past--she would make it a point to leave unique gifts for me every Valentine's day to find as I grew up. The most memorable being a combination lock for my school locker that had a pink heart for a cover. I wasn't able to use it though, it didn't fit properly. This may have set a trend I think. I think in her heart she could never truly let me go as her Valentine and my abrupt severing of that link broke her heart. I should have used that lock to keep those memories safe. Instead, growing up I added childhood photos to Valentine's gifts to a parade of women, photos which she had kept safe in a rosewood chest for her own heart. Photos of a young smiling me as a child.

Be my Valentine.

What is it to be a Valentine? What is it to deliver up what you feel for someone in words, cards, flowers, chocolates, and stuffed toys? What is it to be truly be alive on February 14? More importantly what is it to take out one day of the year and spend it with someone who you willingly give your self to? At what level, though, and at what cost?

This is the longest period that I have been officially single in my life. Being single is being honest, yet I feel that I am not being who I am meant to be...well that I believe anyhow...which is being a husband and a partner...which makes me sad, especially on this day.

Today I choose instead to be your Valentine. I will not say it. But I will leave cards for you to find and be encouraged. I will be here when you start falling in love. I will be here for when Cupid takes aim and misses.

Renewal: Choosing Not To Be Affected

My cousin messaged me the other day in reply to an admission of weakness, "you can choose not to be affected."

How apt; can we truly decide what we feel or what we are affected by? Is it not the very acceptance of our emotions that provide testament to who we are as people? Driven to act and react, to react and act? Then again, as Shakespeare's plays show, these very emotions are exactly what give rise to plot, to tragedy and to drama. They power his simulacra of life.

Who do we choose to be in this life? Prospero? Ariel? Or Caliban? A man come into his power, a powerful spirit entrapped yet obedient, or a monster capable of beautiful speech? This Tempest called life.

"The Tempest" shows us the unforgiving power that choice gives and how lack of it imprisons even the most powerful. The first, being Prospero and the becoming of his life. The second being Ariel and a quest for freedom. Can even the very worst of us find redemption at the penultimate hour like Caliban? I wonder. Did Caliban even have a choice or was he but a creature of his own emotions? His own desires? To which persona do we swing towards? I would rule out Ariel I think. Emotional impotence is not something many of us have the luxury of. A fool of a monster or a fool of a man? What a choice.

In truth it seems that no one is innocent. There are no Ferdinands or Mirandas in this world. You may think you are her prince but then the curtains unfold on now and show you a different result. There are no supporting actors' masks we can slip into. We must act in the main or we are of the walking dead.

Strangely enough, we can muse all we want but not even so great a play can hold a mirror up to our own lives. In our own realities our emotions shake the very universe. The very acts and scenes that comprise our lives are inexorably powered by action and reaction brought out by emotion.

What if there is no Prospero, no Ariel, or even no Caliban? No expectant shoes to fill? What if there is no play to begin with? No unknown audience to view? Perhaps we can choose not to put one on in the first place, but then, in that case that would just be waiting for our lives to begin.

I have so many questions at this point and I veil my unease by pointing out a play whose very power lies in its absurdity of emotion. I know I have been both Prospero and Caliban but more so,

I am Tempest.

A Nagging Suspicion, Grasping Faith

Monday, December 29, 2008 at 10:50am


A Statement: We do not choose to be born into our family and yet we love them completely.

We unfailingly love our parents no matter what their failings or excesses are. They may hurt us to the brink of extinction and we may choose not to speak to them; yet when asked, we would move heaven and hell to go to them.

We automatically love our siblings no matter how far they end up living or how estranged we are from them as we grow up. Without a doubt we would entrust the very lives of our own children into their care.

A Nagging Suspicion: I suspect a similar condition occurs when we meet the person we are meant to spend the rest of our lives with.

We will unfailingly love this person--no matter what their faults or sins are. This person will swing us to both ends of the spectrum by showing us the heights and depths of love and hate. We may be separated from them by years, by circumstance, by physical space, or even by choice--yet fate will always have them come back or have us go back to them.

Fate will set the stage for us to be tested; we will be scrutinized by blinding stage lights and be laid bare for all to see. Fate will make sure that this person will be in the current act or waiting in the wings or maybe even be in the audience. Will we recognize them in time?

Grasping Faith: I share this suspicion with you that you may be comforted. Our parents do their best to protect us from ourselves growing up and they reason that they do not want us to make the same mistakes. Our siblings advise us to the contrary because they want to protect our hearts. Our family only but wants us to stand on their shoulders so we can see farther and clearer towards this person we are meant to be. This person we are meant to be family with.

I urge you to hold on as I have. It is not the perfection of the performance that is important. We will miss our cues, trip on stage, and even forget our lines. What is important is that while we are on stage we sing and dance our hearts out. She will be there.

29 December 2008