‘Question and challenge are an indispensable expression of our care.’
Love child: Peter Leeming has a reflection for Epiphany
‘This love of ours must now deepen and mature.’
‘Nothing is so beautiful as a child who falls asleep while
saying its prayers, God says.
I tell you there is nothing so beautiful in the world.’
Whenever I read this poem by the French poet Charles Péguy (1873-1914), it arouses powerful memories for me of that precious experience long ago, when we sat at the bedside of our small children as they made ready for sleep. In my reveries I find myself back once more with our children’s wide-eyed attention to the details of a bedtime story, and the lengthy, ritual preparation which had to be completed beforehand – all those things to be tidied away out of sight and mind, or gathered up as cherished companions for the night; that beloved doll with a missing arm or the inseparable cuddly toy. I have a cherished image, too, of one small daughter carefully closing her bedroom cupboards each evening before climbing into bed, her sure protection against all those mysterious things which lurk by day in the shadowy recesses of our busy world, but which can emerge at night to haunt our sleep. Undoubtedly, a message there for us parents, too!
So many years have passed since we sat by the cot of our first newborn child! I can hardly remember now how I then felt as a new parent, but, sometimes, in my mind, I try to conjure up an image of those early bedtimes – just a few sketchily-remembered details enriched with the insight that age and experience can bring. I picture for myself how we sit there quietly waiting for the magic of tiredness to do its work, until our small infant finally falls asleep at last, shy smile slowly fading from its face.
It is all so new, so compelling for us, this vision of innocence and beauty now in our home, right here before us. We sit quite still, unable to move, finding it hard to even breathe. So often, before we softly steal away, we are held here for a precious while, gazing with amazement and wonder at our tiny babe. Sometimes though, a vague, elusive sense of apprehension permeates through, impossible to define but which has to do with suffering and loss, and helplessness when faced with the suffering of those we love.
We love this child more than we can say, yet we are still so young, unskilled as yet for the daunting task that lies ahead. We must quickly discover in our hearts the special nature of the love required to meet the challenges and choices to come. All too soon we shall know the extent and pain of parenthood’s demands, alongside its boundless gifts of sheer delight. This love of ours must now deepen and mature, become the love that stubbornly endures despite all that life may bring. At times the course of love can change into a desert journey, a weary trek across shifting sands, where easily we can lose our way, beset by sudden storms and buffeted by cold winds. Yet, we know that always there will be oases of joy to refresh us on our way, and faint but assuring traces of those who’ve gone before. We journey in faith and hope.
Love is our instinctive response to the sight of a tiny infant fast asleep. We are held in a timeless present by the serene stillness of its features, by this image of frail vulnerability, surrounded by an invisible aura of trust. We have no choice but to love it, for without our tender care it cannot survive. But in the days to come, our thoughts will gradually turn to the challenges which lie ahead. What will be the nature of our love as this child grows up? Our present love is pure, untainted by possessiveness, ambition or fear. At this moment we love – as the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda puts it – ‘straightforwardly, without complexities or pride’.
How can we accompany anyone whom we deeply love, young or old, on their life’s journey with the same unalloyed love, allowing them the freedom to flourish and grow, to become themselves? Such freedom is not always foremost in the minds of those who have responsibility for others, especially for the young. ‘What do you do when you love someone?’ asks Bertolt Brecht in Stories of Herr Keuner. Herr Keuner promptly offers his ready-made answer: ‘I make a sketch in my mind of what they might become… and seek to make them conform.’
Jesus’ answer is simple: ‘Love (them) as yourself’ – free from assumptions, unreasonable expectations or desired models, ready to accept them as unique and precious, a child of God. We are called to accompany them on their life’s journey but at a discrete distance, encouraging and supporting, ever quick to forgive and to seek forgiveness from them when things go awry.
But as Jesus demonstrates in discussions with his disciples, question and challenge are an indispensable expression of our care for people we love. We cannot simply abandon them to the blandishments of those who would lead them astray, or fail to tactfully offer our hard-won experience at times of choice or critical decision.
But what of the hard times? When, despite all that we do, things still go wrong, our relationships are in disarray, and we are left facing the plight of our love – what comfort is there for us who would love, yet seemingly have reached the limit of human endurance and affection? When, in the words of the US poet Gjertrud Schnackenberg, our life has become ‘that looming kind of place’ where we stand bereft and forlorn, nursing our torn and bewildered heart. Yet, how could we believe that love could ever be torn from the ground of our heart? Even in the shadow of despair love still endures. The parable of the prodigal son is not the tale of a wayward youth and a family split with a happy ending. It is the story of a father who readily grants his son the freedom and independence he needs and sees him depart, possibly never to return. He must be fully aware of the risk involved in this decision but because he loves his son so deeply, he is willing to take that risk and allow him to go. When the young man has gone and there is no news of him, his father is indeed put to the test. His joy at the son’s safe return is unbounded because he feared that he had indeed lost his son. That was the price his love was prepared to risk and perhaps even to pay.
‘There is nothing that love cannot face; there is no limit to its faith, its hope, and its endurance’ (1 Corinthians 13:7, New English Bible).
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