The Longing in our Hearts, Reflected in All the World

What would it physically look like to visually express the deepest longings and desires of our hearts?

The yearning, grasping after more, after infinity. Never satisfied.

Head rearing back as we let out a deep sighing breath, facing the sky, but with eyes closed, imaging something beyond even the visible starry heavens.

That feeling that words fail to capture - an inner ache, a stirring within, an itch for greatness, a frenzied eyes-wide-open search.

If I had to draw it out, it would be abstract but yet so familiar - the shape of my inner yearning laid out before me. It would have direction, it would stretch towards the heavens. It would also be heavy, carrying the weight, that gravity felt upon the heart. At the same time it would be weightless, rising up. It would be crooked and frenzied - displaying desperation, and yet it would be straight, cutting, piercing like a cry.

All this and more I find in nature - in foliage, branches, trees, grasses.

Rising up, some straight cutting branches, others bent and crookedly seeking direction. Leaves and small seeds abundant, both weighing the branches down, but also displaying order, life, catching radiant life. The bows of the pines drooped and sagging with weight and darkness, while the entire form juts up like a sharp arrow, carrying it all in a prayer heaven-wards. Sometimes bare-bones in the wintertime, the shape and lines of dark branches stark against the gray ground and sky.

Wild tall grasses: frenzied, innumerable, slicing the air, curling and bending in the wind.

It’s all a prayer, inexpressible longing, encapsulated in the fiber of the world, displayed by all creation.

All the world is on pilgrimage, waiting to be whole, gazing heavenward, placing its hope in the promises of the fulfillment that is yet to come.

What a beautiful passage written by St. Paul, capturing the heart of this longing:

18 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. 23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Rom. 8:18-25).

Contrasts

The duller the grays, the brighter the highlights appear, so much more vivid and impactful. Not the brightly painted canvas, but the one painted gray with a burst of color, will strike the viewer as a burst of light.

The darker the night, the more radiant the day.

The colder the winter, the more you relish that Springtime melt.

The more painful an experience of suffering, the more fully you appreciate the peace and healing that follows.

Perhaps so too the more of our life that is colored dull by hardship makes the masterpiece that is the whole of our life shine when colored by the brightness of faith. There is no saint who does not suffer.

A Branch Communicates

A tree branch- a line. A set of lines.

Lines communicate.

Frenzied lines, calm lines, hyper lines, yawning lines, worried lines, dignified lines…can you picture them? Can you draw them? Can you find them in nature?

I love branches, the lines and shapes they make. I love what they communicate- many truths written all around us.

Within the art you find the artist- he brings himself to what he makes, there is none but he who could make what he did, with all his life experience poured out through those lines.

Someone drew those lines in the branches-poured himself out- what can we know of him?

A Few Words

It is not prose, but poetry that invites one deeper.

Fewer words, not more.

Perhaps prose, in its attempt to be more comprehensive, treats its subject like a specimen under study, then presents its findings as if it was all there is to know.

But poetry preserves the mystery, offering a glimpse, nothing more. Capturing the beauty, the essence, but by its briefness leaves one wanting- it is an invitation.

Out of respect for the greatness truth, it must be treated with wonder, explored in humility.

A ‘theology on its knees’ to quote Hans Urs von Balthazar.