Not a new song theme, of course. Just the other day I googled the lyrics for "Alone Again, Naturally", a song I thought I knew (of course, when I was a kid all we could do was try to decipher the lyrics from the radio, and at 7 or so I wasn't so good at that). But a key difference between these two songs is that the 70's version has the man wanting to kill himself because of doubts about God's goodness. Blunt makes no reference to God. Or does he?
I thought of the comment my friend Suzanne made on my post about joy a few weeks back. We discussed the relationship between the "cool" people of the world and the "nerdy joyful" (what labels!). In that context, she made this comment:
..They [people without joy] view them [people who have joy] as reclining on the bosom of Abraham way across an abyss, and they know it's useless to ask whether they would dip a finger into some water to wet their parched tongues.
That comment made me feel a helpless sense of pain for people in this position, and I know they exist. I know at least a couple of them. And it seems to me that the character Blunt portrays in his video is another. I wonder if this sentiment is not much more widely shared than any of us would like to believe.
A beauty that exists, that can be beheld, but whose delights seem destined to prove the torment of the one who desires them, rather than his joyful destination. And while observing all this, I feel like a most ineffectual minister of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:17-21). It doesn't have to be this way! Desiring beauty can lead to all manner of moral depravity, but it can also lead to exquisite holiness. Heightened sensitivity to beauty, to good and evil, and to life in general, can be a great cross, and artists have attested to this with their work and their lives for centuries. I feel I have a bit of the dark artist in me, but I also had the, um, gift? of a dull foundation of presumption which caused me to always assume God's presence in my life was real, albeit distant. We all travel towards the same Ultimate, whether or not we realize it, and regardless of the angle from which we approach the journey. I suppose this is why a lack of understanding among people is so tragic; even the most disparate of types have so much in common, if the eye could but see it.
5 comments:
Hi! I'm reading Spe Salvi and came across this passage:
Indeed, to accept the “other” who suffers, means that I take up his suffering in such a way that it becomes mine also. Because it has now become a shared suffering, though, in which another person is present, this suffering is penetrated by the light of love. The Latin word con-solatio, “consolation”, expresses this beautifully. It suggests being with the other in his solitude, so that it ceases to be solitude. Furthermore, the capacity to accept suffering for the sake of goodness, truth and justice is an essential criterion of humanity, because if my own well-being and safety are ultimately more important than truth and justice, then the power of the stronger prevails, then violence and untruth reign supreme. Truth and justice must stand above my comfort and physical well-being, or else my life itself becomes a lie. In the end, even the “yes” to love is a source of suffering, because love always requires expropriations of my “I”, in which I allow myself to be pruned and wounded. Love simply cannot exist without this painful renunciation of myself, for otherwise it becomes pure selfishness and thereby ceases to be love.
It seems to me that the Pope is speaking directly to this question, no?
okay, I think it was your "helpless sense of pain" that triggered the connection for me -- because in your feeling of compassion, your con-solatio, you share in the solitude of the singer (and also all the cool dudes out there). In making this post, it seemed to me that you were taking up the banner of truth and justice. Maybe the "painful renunciation of self" isn't quite what you were aiming for here (and you see your friend John as a better example of this), but I see, in your pain, a deeper understanding of the Source of our joy. Does that make sense?
Yes, I'm sure it does make sense. And I suppose in a way creating this kind of dark art is a way of seeking, soliciting consolation, knowningly or unknowingly. A cry. I suppose there is no other real remedy for a cry than attentiveness. A shared suffering. As a mother I can see the power of that. But I think a mother who has has experienced a deep suffering of a child that she has been powerless to "fix" would know much deeper than I what this means.
Yes, but God hasn't given you "a deep suffering of a child" -- he's given you precisely these circumstances -- listening to songs written by strangers -- in order to bring you closer to him. This seems to me one of the greatest gifts of blogging (or public writing in general) -- that we have the opportunity to express what would otherwise be formless emotion, or an ephemeral thought -- and let it form us?
As always, a valuable re-orientation you've given me here, Suzanne!
And yes! blogging is formation! I can really live with that thought.
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