Nouwen's epilogue

We have finished Henri Nouwen's Life of the beloved and it had a kind of sad ending (not that I want to ruin it for anyone but... moohoohaha). The book was written as a personal book for his secular Jewish friend to explain clearly the things of the spiritual life, which he explains in his prologue. The epilpogue reflects on how, after the book was finished and he sent it to his friend, Henri went to visit him and received his feedback, and found that it hadn't hit the mark.

As I read the book I myself had wondered if the words he used were too alien, even though they were not strictly 'Christianese' (for his main words were 'beloved, taken, blessed, broken, given', and he spent about a chapter explaining each word), at the end of the day his friend could not move beyond the words to the reality behind them. They were indeed alien to him.

Henri lamented that after years of sharing together he still could not find the right words to convey life in Christ. I suppose if words are mere symbols that represent a reality (and I am aware that this is something much debated in current philosophy of language), and if that reality is at the most basic level an 'experienced' reality, then those who have not yet experienced it will not be able to fully appreciate the meaning behind the words. I think this is the thesis that Hans Urs Von Bathasaar was presenting in his Love alone is credible (a very hard read!), and perhaps also what Karl Barth was getting at in his theology of revelation. Only as we personally encounter God as he reveals himself to us can we grasp the reality to fill the words with true meaning. Outside of God's self-revelation words are empty symbols. Revelation is thus not so much a cognitive process as a whole-of-person experience. It is an encounter with the true 'presence' of God (there's that word again). Ironic, then, that God reveals himself in his 'word' (John 1). But perhaps it is not so ironic if that 'word' is actually a person that we encounter personally.

If this is true, then perhaps presence is more important than words. But, by the same logic, the comments of anonymous against my previous post may suggest that as the words of the Gospel are presented, the listener encounters the real presence of God himself, coming to fill the words with meaning, since the words are 'true' and thus have a reality 'underwritten' by God's own presence, so to speak. It is as if the words of the gospel are the locus where his presence dwells and is manifest to people.

But at the same time, the Bible stresses that Christians are the special locus of God's presence on earth, his 'temple' so to speak. It is this idea that I would like to explore much further.

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Blind love?

Some say love is blind, but I wonder if love actually enables sight? That is, is there a kind of knowledge that is only gained through love, which cannot be perceived without love? Is it true that there are truths that can only be grasped through by the heart? As someone has said ' the heart has its reasons which reason knows not'.

I was reading some reflection on the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10: 25-37) by Caroline Simon, and the way it was worded struck me. She writes 'The priest and the Levite are blind to what the Samaritan sees, for they lack the love that leads to compassion' (p.13). She then quotes Simone Weil's comment: 'Humanity does not exist in the anonymous flesh lying inert by the roadside. The Samaritan who stops and gives his attention all the same to this absent humanity, and the actions which follow prove that it is a question of real attention' (p.13).

I am interested in people who speak of love as that which enables us to look upon people differently, to see things which, without love, we are unable to see, and to be transformed in our thoughts and deeds by what we see. I think there is a lot bound up in this. It means being truly present to the other, and also truly perceiving their presence. The encounter with true 'presence' is something that is deep and touching, something that can 'grip' our heart. Often we do not give our true presence to people. Our minds are elsewhere, 'busy', or through some form of subliminal rejection we choose not to fully listen, and certainly not to look beyond whatever facade we are 'faced' with. But giving our true presence and beholding the other 'lovingly', we may see through their facade to their true presence.

If we do this, if we offer our full presence and manage to glimpse the other, will we find something that compels us to love? That is, is there something in that person that is intrinsically lovable, love-worthy, lovely? Or is is, rather, that our love 'creates' that value in the other?

This, of course, has significant theological assumptions and implications, e.g. Does God's love see in us something of value to be loved, or does it create in us that something, i.e. love completing itself in the other? I would tend to favour the former: that love perceives a worth which already exists in the other. In this case, it is love that enables us to see it.

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