These feelings come in a variety
of ways, along many different paths. Sometimes it's relational: the ache of
loneliness, the awkward feelings of not fitting in, the deep and painful sense
of alienation from others that seems to take on cosmic proportions.
Or maybe it's the need for meaning
and purpose. When we are young, we yearn for significance, wanting our lives to
count for something, believing that we're specially crafted to fulfill a
certain destiny, though we're not sure what it is. But then as we grow older,
those dreams fade. We realize that we're merely existing: working for a living,
trying to hold a marriage or family together, but still lacking a sense of
congruity between what we're doing and who we really are
Sometimes this inward ache is
awakened by beauty. Have you ever had
the strange experience of something beautiful moving you deeply, unexpectedly? The
fire in your spirit is stoked with desire. A secret longing provoked by the
sonorous sounds of a symphony, or the lyrical laughter of a little child, or the
consoling cadences of poetry, or the stunning spectacle of a crimson sunset
over the ocean.
It's the experience that Guinan (the
psychic bartender played by Whoopi Goldberg) had in one of the Star Trek films. A renegade aboard a
starship is trying desperately to get in line with the Nexus, a mysterious
ribbon of energy floating through space. Captain Picard has a conversation with
Guinan who had been in the Nexus, and she says, "That ribbon isn't just some
random energy phenomenon travelling through space. It's a doorway. It leads to
another place - the Nexus . . . It was
like being inside...joy."
You know that you are treading
on transcendent ground in moments like this. But try to grab the experience, to
hold it, to preserve it, to make it last, and it will slip like sand through
your fingers.
These are the experiences that
stab the soul awake with an ardent desire for something more. And perhaps most
significant of all is how desirable this piercing desire is in and of itself.
Though it is a thirst we cannot quite satisfy, the worst thing in the world is
to have the desire and then lose it. That's why C. S. Lewis once said, "Our
best havings are wantings."
The problem is that we so often mistake
the object of our longing. We think that if we can just find that perfect
relationship, or achieve success, or realize our dreams, that we will finally
feel deeply satisfied. It's not that any of these things are wrong in
themselves. Created things, as Lewis points out, "are good images of what we
really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into
dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the
thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo
of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never visited."
The ancient prophets and songwriters
of Israel were also pierced with longing. But they learned to channel their
yearning to the true source of satisfaction, the fountainhead of divine beauty
in God himself. The psalmists described
God as a river of delights and a fountain of life (Psa. 36) and
yearned for pleasures at God's right hand forevermore (Psa. 16). In one
of his most desperate Psalms, David cried, "O God, you are my God; earnestly I
seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and
weary land where there is no water" (Psa. 63).
Comments