I want to be more loving.
I want to come home to my friends whose hearts are tired and embrace them again, as if it were the single most important thing, as if my arms were ready, were waiting to take them in, were somehow not complete without them there, filling the space in between our chests.
I want to move when there is something I know I should do but can't seem to do it. I want to love the people around me, more. Why? Because it feels like purpose, to me.
I participated in a dialog sermon with Tim Hart-Andersen at Westminster Presbyterian Church during a service for Macalester Sunday a few weeks ago. We were discussing my journey in faith at Mac and how it will propel me forward into my unknown and seemingly ambiguous future, as I am graduating in a few weeks. Tim asked me a question along the lines of vocation and if I had any idea of what mine is. I responded that I do not know what my vocation is in the larger sense of established work, but that I see my vocation as - to love the person in front of me. It was one of those occasions where Tim's question served as a sounding board for a clarity I couldn't see, when hearing words fall out of your mouth, unplanned, unthought, are at times the purest stories of self.
How does my faith play into this story - to love the person in front of me? Because God created each person and loves them, fully. And, being a Christian, I am called to strive to live a life of radical love, following the example of Jesus.
But, I cannot fully love. When I come home to my friends, my arms are tired. And sometimes the space in my chest is full - with my own struggles, my own worries. And I know I should love, but I can't move.
St. Augustine explained this as the human "lack" - but that creation's imperfection together with our free will allows us to choose what is morally good amidst a world of varying choices. This ability to choose then, towards the good, is more beautiful because of its alternatives.
I know I cannot love fully. I know that I come up short more times than I am aware of each day, to do the next good thing. I have limits. It is this gap - my lack - that propels me to God, to prayer. How do I do this? It's a dynamic, ever changing aspect of my life. A line from one of my favorite poems by Mary Oliver comes to mind. She says, "I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass."
It's a continual asking, opening, and accepting of myself as I am, with all of my many lacks, allowing for a channel to emerge for grace to flow. It's a visceral humility. A willingness to learn from everything. A reverberating gratitude. A trust that ultimately, God will act, working all things for the good.
To be the person of love that I want to be, I know that I am incapable of doing it by my own strength. I need to go to my Father, my Creator, and relentlessly ask for clearer sight - to see the needs of my neighbors - and for movement - to respond to them with authentic love.
