The context:
On Thursday morning my friend packed his suitcase and stepped through his front door; he was leaving his wife. It wasn't because he didn't love her. No, if you knew my friend, if you attended my bible study, then you would know how much he adored her - to the point where he would put her picture, which he carried in his wallet, beside him while he was leading and she wasn't there. Love expresses itself in the smallest and sometimes corniest ways, and it always makes me smile. I told my friend Sunday night about what had happened over the past week and she commented that she didn't get it. 'I don't get it. Yes I understand, but they're Christian'.
She was right, they are Christian.
We talked about it a bit, and I told her about how godly a man my friend was. I told her about how smart he was, how much potential he had, how he had every answer under the sun. If you had a question about theology, he could answer you; if you had a question about politics or how the world worked, he could answer you. To top it off, he could articulate it in such a way that you would immediately grasp the pith of the argument. He is that good. But something happened on his trip back home. He and his wife were exploring options for settling down in the future - looking forward and trying to decide what was the best compromise so they could be both close to her parents and happy with their career and lifestyle choices. The trip of exploration was half good, half bad, but the half bad shook his character and unearthed every piece of insecurity he had about himself - whether he was a good husband, a good provider, a good son-in-law, a good academic; whether he would ever be good enough. It is hard to chart someone's spiritual life and the demons that they battle, but I have always sensed his struggle. We have demons within us. They tell us lie upon lie, and the worst demons are those that crush us to the point of despair.
The digression:
There is a passage at the end of Canto VIII in Book I of The Faerie Queene. The knight Red Crosse has been captured by the giant Orgoglio, and Una who is the personification of Truth, the one true faith and his companion, finds him in a dungeon in the dark castle. She opens the gates and Spenser gives us this chilling description of Red Crosse, so chilling that it 'could make a stony hart his hap to rew'. The passage stays with us, but we don't know what to make of it or how to interpret it until the next Canto when Una and Red Crosse step into the cave of Despayre, and the mirror image of what we have just seen sears its meaning on our minds.
I never forget that passage. I never forget the imagery of what Despair can look like. I never forget the way he talks, the arguments he makes, the way he lures Red Crosse to the point of suicide. Because these are lies that we hear every day. I remember my professor explaining the historical context of the passage, and telling us about the Protestant faith. Despair is a hidden quality that haunts Red Crosse all through Book I, and it is the one thing which Una and the trio Faith, Hope, and Love, have to eradicate when Red Crosse is brought half dead to the House of Holiness in Book IX. Despair is the greatest sin, the most extreme form of pride and the most masked, because it sets a person beyond God's power and love. It is the belief that you are so sinful that even God cannot help you. That is the darkest moment of a Christian's walk - when he or she believes him or herself to be beyond the grace of God. It takes humility to remember that Jesus's blood is sufficient for all.
My friend was right, they are Christian. He is Christian. But on Saturday night when they shared their story, I also recognised their humanity, and my heart broke. Before that Thursday, he had gone silent for three days. He had woken up on Tuesday and had stopped talking. His wife was scared and he was so sad. He believed entirely that he had disappointed her, that he was keeping her from her heart's desire, from her potential, that he had failed her as a husband, that she deserved so much more. And so on Thursday, his clothes went into his suitcase and he
walked out that door.
The reflection:
I don't doubt that it was God who stopped his foot at the threshold. His wife came home in time to catch him, and she broke with him to let him know just how much she loved him. It's an unconditional love that saves. I have several things going on in my mind right now, and many more struggles in my heart. I recognise that I am at a crisis point, where I don't know what's real and what's ritual anymore, what I do that actually connects with God and what I do because I've always done it. I want so much to know. It is an epistemological question that I
cannot grasp.
What resonated with me was this: when my friend shared with our bible study Saturday night, he said that what scared him most was that he still woke up and did his devotions during those dark days. He still prayed similar prayers, still ate his breakfast in the same place, still did his work, issued out our bible study emails and arranged rides for us to come. That he could do all that and still walk out the door signified that there was a serious disjuncture in his life somewhere. Jesus talks constantly about connecting our outward actions to our inner hearts.
He talks about honesty and truth and the outflow of good clean water from deep within us. How do we assess our actions?
I blurted out something uncharacteristic of me last night on the phone. It was out of context, unwarranted, and an outflow of the demons that I have been struggling with. My best friend was gracious, and in her email this morning she identified something that I have been confronting over and again these past few weeks. She was taken aback by the cynicism in my voice, and upon reflection we both realised that it was that she was reacting to and not what was said. Last night I fell asleep disappointed in myself. I woke up this morning with that same
feeling. It was hopelessness. Friendships are about contributions. Best friendships the more so. And my happiest moments have been times where I could contribute to joy, to understanding, to giving and edifying, to lifting up. But lately I feel like I have been a deadweight, but not for lack of trying. I use my mind, I rationalise, I become upbeat and I talk. But moments like last night will tell you that the demons are still raging, and I am on the bathroom floor. And all I want is to know that people can still love you when you're there. That there is this thing of
unconditional love.
So where does that leave me? I don't just feel lost. I am lost. Tell me that there is unconditional love. Tell me that people are good and can be good. Tell me that there is something called Hope and Faith. Tell me what is real. Tell me that it is real. Explain to me what God meant when he acredited Abraham's faith as righteousness. Tell me that it is okay, but more importantly, make me believe it.
Posted on May 27, 2008 at 03:22AM
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