Dark Devotional: Fifth Sunday of Easter: All You Need is Love

Dark Devotional: Fifth Sunday of Easter: All You Need is Love April 28, 2016

Life, death, time. That about covers it.
Life, death, time. That about covers it.

 

A Reading from the Gospel According to John

When Judas had left them, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and God will glorify him at once. My children, I will be with you only a little while longer. I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

 

Finally.

After all of John’s foreshadowing. After Jesus’ continual refrain of “My hour has not yet come.” All of the drama has been building up to the climax that has been reached with that one word.

“Now.”

The plot has reached its zenith. Christians await to see what is coming in the Gospel with bated breath and the anticipation of jumping up and high-fiving each other.

But following the climax, Jesus uses “glorify” and prepositions in some confusing ways and then commands his followers to… love, and to make the act of loving their identity.

Not exactly a Coach Taylor halftime speech. It’s the ultimate letdown when you expect to jubilantly chest-bump your buddies to ACDC and instead you hear John Lennon acoustically telling you to lower your expectations.

Because it seems love isn’t all I need.

Growing up in the heart of American Christianity, platitudes and inspirational quotes by Beatle-like icons that only belong on throw pillows were the depth and breadth of faith. Like a Band-Aid in the mind of a four-year-old, “Let go and let God” fixed all bo-bos.

For me, jamming to Christian radio stations, wearing scapulars outside of my shirt (Catholic high school, thank you very much), and peppering my speaking with phrases like “Thank God,” “Maybe in heaven…,” and “I’ll pray about it,” definitely made me a holy person.

That is, until things fell apart like a shoddily constructed Jenga tower exploded in a shit-storm that rained broken pieces of Rosary bracelets and clueless Mike Seavers.

Being diagnosed in my teenage years with a disorder that shortens my life and requires the use of a wheelchair was a devastating blow. One that no amount of inspirational throw pillows can soften.

So no, John Lennon. I needed a little more than love.

Red heart pillow on wheelchair isolated on white background

Yet Jesus used what St. John presented as his literary climax to speak about such a syrupy topic. Love.

American Christianity seemed to have a vice-gripped monopoly on all things love. When the reality of my physical disorder hit me, all the shadows I’d known of love, of Christianity, and of God disappeared in the stark light of this reality.

There was no longer much difference between the people I recognized as holy and the people I viewed as damned. The strict, rigid categories through which I’d neatly filed every increment of my life melted to a confusing blur. I began to listen to voices I’d never paid attention to before – across theological, ideological, and even political chasms from where I spent my life.

And the beat goes on. Typical story of an adolescent encountering the fickleness of his life’s “unquestionable” fundamentals. However, instead of succumbing to a life of pitying others alongside Dawkins, I couldn’t let go of the power of compassion, empathy, and altruism in exchange for embittered disillusionment. Something about self-sacrifice entranced me; and this wasn’t the love found only in fundamentalist Christian circles and radio stations. It was deeper. Stronger and broader. Less tidy and sicker.

The narrow “love” solely encountered within Christian church-goers was comical. If this was what Jesus was all about, he’s irrelevant.

However, recognizing I only have a partial understanding of what “love” means is cathartic. It made sense that much I’d seen emanating from churches in the name of love was outmatched by the compassion of many in the non-Christian world.

Understanding that love is more heroically dynamic than cowardly passive shattered my entire view of love, of Christianity, and of God. Allowing my views to evolve, rather than leaving them behind entirely, makes me odd, but perhaps relevant.

To say that I understand God now would be a bold-faced lie. He is the destination, and I’m still trudging along, one slow wheel rotation at a time. But compassion, self-sacrifice, caring for others–I can see that. And I can try to embody it, not because of a hope of heaven but because I want to. That’s the path I choose. And maybe because of that, like Jesus said, people will see me as one of his followers.

 

blurry love


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