Fare Well, Fare Forward

Leaving is bittersweet. Bitter because presence is brief and absence is long. Bitter because all friendship, which lies at the heart of human flourishing, comes not to perfection in this life, but to memory. Bitter because intermingled with all love is sorrow, and for every reunion there is a re-parting.
But Faith makes leaving sweet. Faith that our God, the great Author, works in the future as He has in the past and does now in the present. Faith that in Christ is a unity between believers that transcends both time and space, an eternal bond of peace. Faith that seeks wisdom in humility, that strives for excellence in vocation, that goes forth boldly as a champion rejoicing to run his course. Faith that prays with Christ, "Thy will be done," and in whatever small way given to it from above, is a blessing, is a light in this world. Faith that Christ is working in our friends and working through our friends though they are far away.
And Hope makes leaving sweet. Hope that even as we share together in the Cross of our Lord, we shall one day share also in His Resurrection. Hope that the work of the Spirit in our hearts will bear the fruit of charity in this world no matter where we go. Hope that these words of our Lord shall be fulfilled for His Church: "And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you" (John 16:22). Hope that declares, with C.S. Lewis, "Christians never say goodbye!" Hope that absence and memory will give way to union in Christ.
But Love, most of all, makes leaving sweet. Sweet because, although absence is long, God is with us: the Spirit goes with our friends, making them perfect, redeeming their work, not letting their words fall to the ground. Sweet because, although friendship comes only to memory in this life, that memory may become a prayer through which we participate in God's work in our friends and through our friends. Sweet  because we are changed by our friendships; people are the voice of God and the work of the Spirit in our lives (both His work in our hearts and the work of charity given us to carry out). Love makes leaving sweet because, although all love is mingled with sorrow, there will come a day when sorrow will be overcome. Faith will become sight; Hope will be fulfilled; Love will remain. Our paths diverge now, but the Love of God binds us together even as it sends us apart. It sends us apart not as strangers, but as the people of God, a multitude of stories woven together in the life, death, and Resurrection of Christ.

My friends who are graduating, may the Spirit of charity and light go with you wherever you may go. May He bless you, keep you; may His face shine upon you all of your days. May He give you peace forever. And take courage! Perhaps we will see one another again on this earth; perhaps not (this is the bitter). But a day will come (a day of sweetness) when we shall all see one another again, and we shall behold His face. And in that day, we shall say to one another, "Welcome Home."

10 Days More

108 days I have been in St. Andrews. And I'll be here for 10 more. Although Scotland is beautiful, I'd rather be at home. Somehow, the wide-open skies and spaces that characterize the half-hour or more drive between any one Texas (family home) town and another are, to me, more beautiful, more wonderful than even the stunning Highlands and the grey, windblown shore of the North Sea. I would rather see the wooded hills and gently rolling fields of Minnesota (second home) than the purple heather-mantled mountains of the Cairngorms or the sunlit, verdant Ochil Hills. I cannot very well account for it. But I suspect that the eye takes a unique pleasure in beholding again what is familiar, just as the ear takes a unique pleasure in the refrain of an old and lovely song whose every word and chord it has heard over and over again. We humans are like that--creatures of habit. Yet we are also creatures who long for the undiscovered, the frontier, the new, and take for granted the old, the well-worn, the everyday, until it is far away, across the sea, only tangible in the necessarily brief letter or treasured picture. And we see that home was more precious to us than adventure after all. T.S. Eliot captures something of this in those rather famous lines from "Little Gidding":

                                 We shall not cease from exploration
                                 And the end of all our exploring
                                 Will be to arrive where we started
                                 And know the place for the first time.

The return to the familiar, to home, is not far from the mind of the poet in these lines. On one level, these words do indeed speak of our turning again to the old and familiar when we have found that in them was what we were looking for the entire time. On another level, these words speak of a greater turning for which the returning home is also a metaphor. C.S. Lewis has written of how God's face will seem familiar to us when we stand before Him at last. For in our sojourning on this earth, we will have glimpsed Him, the Lord who "plays in ten thousand places," everywhere we look and in everything we hear. In the beautiful things and places of the world, certainly, and in the love of family and friends, in the worship of the church, in the wisdom of our parents and mentors. But we will have also glimpsed Him in the less lovely things and places: the poverty of the oppressed, the pain of the sick and wounded, the grief of the desolated and forgotten, the loneliness of the imprisoned and lost, even in the midst of evil. His voice is as much in the groaning and the tears of the torn and bent world as in its radiance and rejoicing. "Christ plays in ten thousand places". Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.
So in 10 days I will be going home, to be with the people whom I have loved longest and whom I know best. I hope that being away will have taught me to treasure them more. And that is good.
But on another level, no place is home yet, although home may shine through many things and places. Home on earth does not last forever as it was made to, and that is grievous. But in God's time, and by His grace, this too shall be mended. He shall raise us to new life, to being home at last with Him, our Father, in the household of the Lamb and His Bride, the Church. Lewis writes also that he feels sure that God will raise not only individuals to this life, but homes, families. And I suspect that he may be right. So family on earth is much more than an image: it is, perhaps, not a stretch to call it a sacrament. It is a way of life invested by God with transcendent value under Him.
This is all true. But lofty metaphors aside, I sure can't wait to be back.