Or Perhaps It's The Mystical Shmystical Nonfiction

Perhaps it’s the mystical shmystical nonfiction, such as The Sacrament of the Present Moment. Perhaps it’s in a passage such as the following: “Faith is required for everything divine. If we live continually by faith we shall always be in touch with God, speaking to him face to face. In the same way as our thoughts and words are transmitted by air, so are God’s conveyed by all we are given to do and suffer. Not only the substance of his word will be manifest, but everything will be sanctified and perfected for us. In heaven this is glory, and on earth faith, with only a difference of degree, not of kind, between them.”

You read a passage like this. You reread a passage like this. It sounds. Well. Frankly. It sounds a little namby pamby at first, doesn’t it. It sounds a little churchy. Sounds a little like the guy is advancing that argument. Oh, you know. The best of all possible worlds argument. The opiate of the masses argument. The argument that says, No matter what, everything will be okay. This was meant to be. Whatever this is. Look for your reward in heaven.

But no. No. Get past that. Get beyond these rational suspicions. These rational approaches. These reasonable and skeptical defensive positions. Set all this aside. And go with the guy. Let him take you up the path that does not seem to be there. Up the path that does not seem a legitimate path. That is all boulders and rocks the size of Buicks. Follow him up his path to the grand prospect. To the place he has there in the mountains he’s explored and climbed.

A Frenchman of all things! A Frenchman. And I detest the French! Name of de Caussade. Name of de Caussade. Jean-Pierre. A so thoroughly Frenchified name I want to be ill. To be ill all over the place.

But get past this also. This. This lack of charity. This lack of restraint. This queasiness with respect to national character. Or national stereotypes. This stereotypical national character flaw. This. Whatever this is, get past this also. And take the words in. Take them in because they have God in them.

Whether they were written by a Frenchman or not. They are in fact about faith. They are in fact about how faith is the method. How faith is what Christ asked of us and is our method of knowing him. Of worshipping the Father. Of finding the Father. Of recognizing the Holy Spirit.

But listen to me! I go on and on. I drone on and on like any dime a dozen sermonizer. Like any dime a dozen street corner proselytizer. Like any hack pumping the public for its loose change.

But faith. This is true. Faith is a form of love. It is the trust part of love. And it requires us to look for God everywhere, does it not. Oh. Perhaps that’s too strong. Strike that. It asks us, does it not, to look for God. For the Holy Spirit. Everywhere. In everything.

But de Caussade is. Well. He’s. He’s just into this suffering idea. He’s really oriented toward this suffering business. And there is a good bit of that in the world. There is a great deal of that in the world. But there’s also the flip side. The pleasure side. The joy boy side. The joy girl side. The music and art and poetry and wine and dancing in the streets. The happy time between the sheets. Et cetera.

And there is. There is whether you in particular like it or not. A great deal of this in the world also. If the suffering part were the size, let’s say, of a normal cellophane-wrapped Twinkie. (To use a well worn cliché. A well worn movie simile.) Which is maybe the size of oh. Say a cell phone. The pleasuring part would be. Oh. A Twinkie the size of the Empire State Building.

Think about it. Making love. Eating. Breathing. Moving around. Going to sleep. Waking up. Bathing. Playing catch with your children. Taking them to the zoo. Kissing. Reading. Reading stories to your children. And so forth. Most of life is the Empire State Building. The duration of the part that you might legitimately call suffering is maybe. Oh. Even smaller than the size of a cell phone. Maybe more like the size of a cookie. One of those leetle. One of those pretend little chocolate chip cookies. Minis I think they call them.

Hyperbole. Pure hyperbole, you’re muttering. And maybe there is some of that. Depending on your circumstance, these things move around. They can move around a lot. But for most of us here. Most of us educated and blessed citizens of technologically advanced states. With advanced economies. This is mostly true. This mostly holds.

But what am I talking about. What am I going on and on about. Yes. I remember. What I was talking about was faith, which the writer says is the earthly counterpart to heavenly glory. To the glory in which the inhabitants of heaven wander about. A luminescence. A brightness. A light that is infinitely beautiful and that shines out of all the beings there. Out of all the objects there.

That is the light of God in which everything partakes. And faith. Well faith in God that he is also in all things here. All events. All enjoyments. All blessedness. All love. Even also in the suffering. In the cruelty. In the events that are brought about by greed and hatred and pride. That he can also be found in these. Not as the motive force. Not his will. But his comfort. His healing. His compassion. His patience. His acceptance. His grace. Even here. Even when we are most distressed. Most put upon. Most put down. Most literally tortured. He is also here. In this. With us. Available to us. Even now. All about us here.