Chapter 16, THE FORGIVENESS OF ILLUSIONS, IV. The Illusion and the Reality of Love
Loving and the Longing To Be Special (More on the inclusive heart)
July 26, 2009
Tom Baker (tbaker@omega.hrcoxmail.com)

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The passage from the Course which follows asks us to question what we almost never question: the need to be loved in a special way by someone special which makes us feel special forever and ever, amen. The passage is challenging and, in parts, mystical. The little essay that follows is the same thing dumbed down a bit, applied to real life, and made entertaining; commentary not by way of explanation but by illustration in terms of the everyday. But first from the Course:

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all of the barriers within yourself that you have built against it. It is not necessary to seek for what is true, but it is necessary to seek for what is false. Every illusion is one of fear, whatever form it takes. And the attempt to escape from one illusion into another must fail. If you seek love outside yourself you can be certain that you perceive hatred within, and are afraid of it. Yet peace will never come from the illusion of love, but only from its reality.

Recognize this, for it is true, and truth must be recognized if it is to be distinguished from illusion: The special love relationship is an attempt to bring love into separation. And, as such, it is nothing more than an attempt to bring love into fear, and make it real in fear. In fundamental violation of love’s one condition, the special love relationship would accomplish the impossible. How but in illusion could this be done? It is essential that we look very closely at exactly what it is you think you can do to solve the dilemma which seems very real to you, but which does not exist. You have come close to the truth, and only this stands between you and the bridge that leads you into it.

Heaven waits silently, and your creations are holding out their hands to help you cross and welcome them. For it is they you seek. You seek but for your own completion, and it is they who render you complete. The special love relationship is but a shabby substitute for what makes you whole in truth, not in illusion. Your relationship with them is without guilt, and this enables you to look on all your brothers with gratitude, because you creations were created in union with them. Acceptance of your creations is the acceptance of the Oneness of creation, without which you could never be complete. No specialness can offer you what God has given, and what you are joined with Him in giving.

Across the bridge is your completion, for you will be wholly in God, willing for nothing special, but only to be wholly like to Him, completing Him by your completion. Fear not to cross to the abode of peace and perfect holiness. Only there is the completion of God and of His Son established forever. Seek not for this in the bleak world of illusion, where nothing is certain and where everything fails to satisfy. In the Name of God, be wholly willing to abandon illusions. In any relationship in which you are wholly willing to accept completion, and only this, there is God completed, and His Son with Him.” (Text, Chap. 16, IV., pp. 338-339).

Loving and the Longing to be Special

My sister and niece and nephew were visiting last year and we went to a younger person’s place, Guadalahara, on a Friday night, jumping with eager young folks. As I walked by I would see young, pretty faces turn my way, look me up and down and then flick a glance at my wedding ring. Then their eyes would shift to another guy who might be soul mate material; younger, cooler, and available. In a few seconds they knew I was not the one. Then they took a look at my nephew and their glance would linger. No wedding ring, lots of hair, and I could hear the girls whisper to one another, “He’s really cute.” Had those girls run into a psychic they would want to know two things (1) what’s going to happen in the future? That’s because we like life to be predictable and we like something big getting ready to happen that we can look forward to. The second thing can include the first but is more specific (2) when will I find the love of my life, where is my soul mate, have I already met them, are they thinking of me now? When I was a priest I always asked the first question and wanted the psychic to say I would be a bishop someday or even the pope. All I got was dull stuff like “you won’t be in this parish forever” and encouraging stuff like “whatever you do, you’ll do well” yawn, but then I would slip in the soul mate thing with a little disclaimer like “celibacy can’t last forever, the next pope is bound to let us marry” and my favorite psychic would always say, “She’s waiting, she’ll know you when she sees you, she’s waiting.” “But will I know her?” I would ask, drooling. And the psychic would say, “It doesn’t make any difference. Next question.”

This psychic would say the same thing every time and I hated the idea that my soul mate would know me but I wouldn’t necessarily know her. I wanted to be in control of love. Someone might be loving me without my knowledge at this very moment and I couldn’t do anything to make them love me more; and what if I didn’t recognize them or worse what if it was an old lady or a nun or, the worst, my pastor. I liked my pastor. He was great, we’d be great soul mates, my Bing Crosby, to his Bob Hope: Going my way. But I wanted my soul mate to be a girl and for the pope to change his mind. I begged for details. The psychic gave me no details, but she did teach me about love, a little anyway. She said to let love be in charge of me, not for me to be in charge of love. I tried too hard to be loved and it never worked. Give up on making myself lovable, that was her implied advice. That was hard for me. I have never been the great looking guy or the athlete. I have been average, never the Cadillac or Mercedes of guys, more the Chevrolet Escort, reliable, bright head lights, a good heater and a racing stripe, but pretty much basic transportation. I had to work on being lovable. As a priest I had peoples’ respect so love seemed to be an easy next thing to get. I tried being funny but that often backfired: priests should be serious and besides the Bible is not a funny book. Jesus wept but he never laughed. Then I’d be serious and inevitably someone would say, “Father, God is like a child, loosen up, let yourself play on the altar. We love it when you smile. Smile, but don’t be funny.” Being lovable was a tightrope I kept slipping off of. I was frustrated. Love eluded me. But I was finding myself happier and happier, but it didn’t make sense because I didn’t feel particularly loved. The longer I was a priest the happier I got, but I couldn’t figure it out. I thought, I shouldn’t feel so happy, because I’m not particularly loved.

People often assume that I left the priesthood because I was unhappy being a priest. Nothing could be further from the truth. I loved being a priest. I simply could no longer believe that Jesus would have to sacrifice himself so that God would love us. God’s mad because we’re bad and Jesus dies for us, which makes everyone sad, and this makes God glad. That’s basic Catholic teaching, which is why lots of Catholics feel guilty: Jesus had to die for me. Poor Jesus, bad me. I couldn’t buy the Catholic part, but I loved the priest part, in fact it made me unaccountably happy, but as I said I didn’t understand why I was so happy. It was not until I was out of the priesthood and fairly well along with my romance with the soulmate who sure enough had found me with no effort on my part, that I discovered what was making me so happy.

My wife and I were having a “how did it all start” discussion one day soon after we started living together but before we were married. I wanted to know what it was about me that she found so attractive, so beguiling, so wonderful that she had fallen so hopelessly in love with me. Was it my brilliance, my generosity, my gentle wisdom, my homespun humor, or maybe that twinkle in my eye that even in the mirror I find quite irresistible? Or perhaps it was several other lovable qualities that I had not thought of.
“Well,” she said, “I needed someone to love and you were very easy to love.”
“So I was available and didn’t resist.”
“Exactly!”
“Does it make any difference to you if I love you back.”
“Why of course, but I can’t do anything about that. That’s up to you. Loving you is what I’m doing and it’s going just fine.”

And I realized why I was so happy as a priest. I was loving so many people. My job description as a priest was to love everybody. That’s what Jesus did and so I, who was Jesus’ stand in, tried to do the same. And it was a kick. I know, it’s suppose to be a sacrifice: “Yes, you little worm of a Catholic, I’ll hold my breath and love you.” But it wasn’t a sacrifice at all. It was a kick. From ordination on I could love you no matter what you looked like, sounded like, even if you were a little simple or crazy I could love you; even if you didn’t love me back, I could still love you; in fact it was a requirement. And it filled me with energy at first, and then joy. Before ordination I had been lonely and insecure; I was waiting for someone to love me, find me. You love me and then, I thought, I’ll love you. After ordination I just loved people and the rest was up to them. Some of my favorite people were old people and religious mystics. I would visit old ladies and realize they weren’t old inside; they’d tell me all their secrets, one woman said if she were younger and I weren’t a priest, she’d like to put her shoes under my bed. I got to know lots of people who Jesus, and especially Mary, talked to. The messages were often very ordinary, like, “Mary likes your new car,” or “Jesus enjoyed your sermon about him on Sunday.” Before I loved these people, the old folks would have just been lonely old people and the mystics would have been crazy Catholics. But loving them made them simply sincere. Another way to say this is that when you love people they start to look real. When you love someone they want to make contact back, people would press a holy card into my hand, one lady would give me buttons. “ I don’t have any money,” she would say, “but this is a very pretty button.” I was charmed. The old people cooked for me and gave me old Bibles. I started noticing how extremely courageous most people are and, when loved, how beautiful they become. And I noticed that I was no longer lonely and never insecure. Why? I wasn’t asking who loved me, I was simply asking who else I could love, and the whole world raised its hand. Now I didn’t know this until my wife explained it to me. And I have come to think that we already love each other, but until you start loving no matter what you don’t realize it. Loving is not to get anything back. Loving is it’s own reward; the more you do it the more you feel it.

My niece who is in love said it well. She is delighted to make a difference in someone’s life. He may not know the difference, but he’ll never be the same and she has seen him as he is. What could be more fun than that?

We will use this passage and essay for the meeting on July 26 and for August 2nd. I remind you again of the class I am teaching for Atlantic University entitled The Examined Life. It is on Tuesdays from 6 to 8 pm running from Sept. 1st to Dec. 15th and costs $750 for AU students and $500 for non-AU students. Places are sill available.