Nobody sensible ever said that love was easy. Much less meant to be so. But in spite of the fact that real charity requires real suffering, and sacrifice, I do continue to think that, too often, we exaggerate love's challenges: whether as a pretext for our own self-heroism and -glory, or as an excuse for letting ourselves off "love's hook." The point in the latter case being that "it's just too hard"; whereas in the former case, why, it's supposed to be hard, and should never, ever be anything else.
But especially in these busy activist times, I think we're tempted to exaggerate both the hardships of love, and the ugliness, or unpleasantness, of those we are supposed to love. Or feel called upon to love. Maybe it's our way of toughening ourselves against the perceived grittiness, or even malignance, of what is often called "real life," or the "real world." Still in all, I can hardly help wondering: So far as we continually over-estimate, over-remember, over-prepare for the "war-and-conflict" aspect of life in the world, do we not also risk under-estimating, and even forgetting, the peace of the God who made it?
Because surely it isn't such a hard thing, to figure out how best to love the creature in front of me. It isn't so hard to be most alive to those of its characterisitics that are, as one might say, most salient. Or, to put it another way, NOT those of its traits which would likely be of most interest to a certain type of scientist, or other experimenter. Or bureaucrat. Or policy wonk. Or Amazonized manager. I.e., NOT those traits that are, say, easiest to predict, and pigeonhole; to calculate or categorize; to dismiss or despise. Or be (continually) disappointed in. (Not that you expected all that much of the sorry creature in the first place.)
So of course, by salient, I don't mean any of these measurable, "scientific" traits, our sole focus on which can very easily make the uniqueness of any living thing all too hard to recognize and appreciate, much less love. I mean, rather, precisely those things about it that are most surprising, and in a pleasant way; that most unexpectedly exceeded our expectations, and disappointed our doubts and fears (or would, if just for once we allowed any creature a modicum of that delicious, serenely-undismissive silence in which its real life could breathe).
But in particular, I believe, any living - even human - creature would be easier to love, if only we could be alive, and alert, to something further about it. Or deeper within it. Something that's often if not nearly always hard to detect. And that most often can barely be sensed at all, despite our most strenuous efforts, apart from the Silence mentioned at the close of the previous paragraph. I mean that strange core of any creature's being in which, even more than it desires the wisdom, teaching or righteousness of its Maker, it hungers for His presence, and pleasure, and naturalness, and delightingness, and fascination, and absorption, and, indeed, all those things He most longs to be, for those who most utterly trust and delight in Him. As opposed to all those things He so often "has to be", towards those who most adamantly refuse to trust in Him, and so can find no pleasure or peace in Him.
In a nutshell? I think most people wouldn't be nearly so hard to love, if only we bothered to remember, and embrace, and (assuming it's not too difficult) even love that soul in them - i.e., that core of each one of us - which is of so little interest to a certain kind of scientist, bureaucrat, manager, etc, precisely because, while it is easy enough for our minds and wills to oppress and boss around, it is so devilishly hard for anyone (other than God) to predict, and control.
Pray for the peace of Kyiv, etc.
