This is the first of a series of essays that explain aspects of my novel, Face to Face.
This first topic is longing, but a special kind of longing, a longing for something that apparently has no object. This longing is expressed everywhere, in poetry, songs, novels, movies, and ordinary conversation. For example, I just recently heard Wild Mountain Thyme, which expressed the longing in song. It can also be found in Plato's allegory of the cave, Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality, Caliban's longing for the sweet airs and twanging instruments that haunt his sleep (The Tempest), the final lines of Faulkner's The Mansion, the feeling one may get when you suddenly run across something that reminds you of a lost love, the scent of a place you used to know in happier times, the mystery of the wind in the trees found in the movie, Blowup, and the disconsolate feeling one can have as the sun goes down in the west, intensely beautiful and intensely sad.
This sense of longing is expressed in a number of ways throughout Face to Face. Jack McFarland's tormented father dreamed of the eternal harmonies, a longing for the Platonic forms. The Professor longed for the New Jerusalem, Deb longed for a secure home for her family, Sonia longed for justice, and Alicia was willing to lose her life for a time when "the patrón, the rich, the poor, the governments, all the peoples, have ended their madness and all of us are free." Jack McFarland remembered his lost childhood, and how he would hide in his secret place, singing to himself while the tears streamed down his face.
I had a home one time,
I left it all behind,
And I'd go back home,
If I could clear my mind.
Crying, crying, all of the time,
I've got a broken heart,
I've got a tangled mind.
This longing for home is universal, and the Prologue of Face to Face begins with a description of such a place. It was at his grandmother's home in Kentucky when he was a child.
The sun was shining and the wind was blowing hard. It was the fall of the year. A gust of wind hit him. The leaves streamed from the trees, shining gold and green against the sky. He was lifted up into the wind, the sky, and the leaves. He cried out in ecstasy, his body bursting with joy. The moment imprinted itself upon his soul.
The tone of this passage is different from the tone of the song that Jack sang in his secret place. The song is intensely sorrowful, while the passage is rather matter of fact, even though it describes a time of great beauty and happiness. This is because the Prologue belongs to the first two chapters of Genesis which describe the original home without the anguish and sorrow conveyed by the song. Genesis one and two was written from a point of view that transcends loss, namely, the divine perspective which sees all things from beginning to end.
The Prologue does, however, contain several lines that highlight the special feature of the longing described in this essay. First, there is the statement, "The moment imprinted itself upon his soul," followed by a subsequent statement, "... the memory of that day slowly faded. But even if he forgot the day, its light affected him forever." Here we have two facts, something of great weight happened to Jack McFarland, yet he no longer remembers it. This is tantamount to saying that the longing actually has an object, but when the feeling occurs, one cannot say what that object may be.
It might seem, however, that this longing does, in many instances, have a definite object. For example, Wild Mountain Thyme might seem at first blush to express a longing for Scotland. It does express a longing for Scotland, and Scotland certainly exists. But was there ever a time when, suffused with innocence and beauty, we all went together "to pull wild mountain thyme from all around the blooming heather"? There was never such a time and we know it. Our times, even the best of them, are haunted on all sides by tragedy and sorrow. When we grow up, we know this.
But why, we may ask, does this longing have no definite object. The answer would seem to be that what we long for does not exist. Sonia, for example, might say that there will never be justice. In reference to God, she cries out,
"Yes," she said, fiercely, "yes. I loved God once, loved him. When I was young and innocent. But who is he now, Jack? Who is he? He's the one who breaks hearts, Jack, breaks hearts, always breaking hearts."
Or, we might think of Deb, in the terrible moment she realized that her husband might even be willing to sacrifice his family for a misguided sense of God's duty. In a paroxysm of rage, she hurled herself against Jack, screaming in desperation,
You want to die?" she shrieked, standing over him. "Well, I'm ready to die, too. I'll even lie down in front of those tractors if you want me to. We can even take the kids. Oh no, Jack, oh no. No we won't. I won't take my kids. No I won't, Jack. I'll stay right here."
The longing has no object because everything we hope for, even if, for the moment, our dreams come true, is always subject to death. There is no way around this. Behind everything, even the best of moments, stands the stark reality of death. That is why the Prologue begins with childhood, to a time when death scarcely lies on the horizon. Fairy tales belong to this reality. They begin with words such as "Once upon a time," or "A long time ago." They end, "And the prince and the beautiful maiden lived happily ever after." They belong to a time and place where there is no death. Such a dream is only possible for children, before death and loss can seize the imagination and love goes stale.
Death, however, begins long before we die biologically. It begins as a withering away of the heart that infects every dimension of our existence. We forget how we could actually live. Jack McFarland forgot the beauty of the fall day and the happiness of family. We settle for less, a loveless marriage, a dead end job, a slow debilitating disease, an irreparable relationship, a surrendering to an addiction, a closing of the soul, an avoidance of responsibility. All these are forms of death and they are inexorable. We feel these things happening to us, and so, many of us fight against them, until, in the end, we are forced to surrender. As for Jack, as it says in the Prologue,
After he went back to Chicago with his parents, the memory of that day slowly faded. But even if he forgot the day, its light affected him forever. Something came between him and that light, and in its shadow, all other days turned to night. Little by little he felt as if he were dead. As a child he felt it all the time, but when he grew up, he covered up his death with his life. He got married, became an Episcopal priest, had kids, did what others did.
Here we have at least two ideas. Jack was affected by something that he had forgotten, a day of intense joy. This joy created a longing, a longing for a better world. Jack did not live in this better world, and therefore by contrast, he felt dead. This led him to act, and that act was to "cover up his death with his life." That was his response to the deadness that lived within him. The deadness itself did not give him the power to act. It was the desire for the goodness, even if forgotten, that drove him to act. "He got married, became an Episcopal priest, had kids, did what others did." That was Jack's solution, and individually and collectively, that is our solution. We build an empire, large or small, and the social form of this empire is civilization. Civilization is the drive to realize a dream, to build the object we long for, even in the face of death. All civilizations and all persons have that goal. Yet in the end, their dreams, their myths, their power, and their glory, must reckon with the final reality, death.
The Prologue, however, begins with the words, "When Jack McFarland was ten, he saw something of God." The text does not say that Jack saw God directly, but only that he saw "something of God," meaning that God revealed himself to Jack in a subtle and delicate way on a fall day in Kentucky when the "leaves streamed from the trees, shining gold and green against the sky." It was this brief glimpse of God, a glimpse fulfilled at the end of the final chapter, that gave him the power to go on. God was with him, in the beginning, the middle, and at the end. It was God that gave him the desire for the better world. It was God that stood behind the anguish of his childhood song, "I Had a Home One Time." Without knowing it, Jack was weeping for his lost home with God. It was God that gave Sonia the hunger for justice, Jack's dad the desire to see the eternal harmonies, Deb's passion for a true home, and Alicia's hunger for a better world. If you have any hope for the good, God lies behind it. "God saw all that he had made, and it was very good" (Genesis 1:31).
When I first began to follow Jesus, I did not believe in God, I did not know that God existed, that the Bible was true, that Jesus was risen from the dead, that justice existed, and that sorrow could be overcome. But I did know, and if we are honest, we must know, that utter goodness is possible, that joy could perhaps be real, that dreams might come true, that longings might be satisfied. There is no convincing argument that can deny the possibility of ultimate joy, even in the face of massive human suffering, for we do not fully understand the mystery of suffering, its origins nor final import. I made a very simple prayer, "Jesus, if you exist, reveal yourself to me," and from there, I set out to follow Jesus. That prayer got answered. It took several years, but I met him face to face and he brought me home to God.
Let me summarize this first essay on Face to Face. There is a universal longing and it has an object. It is God, revealed in his Son, Jesus, who conquers death. All true longings come from God and lead toward God. If you want to verify that proposition, pray this prayer, "Lord Jesus, reveal yourself to me." Then follow him by reading the Bible and finding a church that believes Jesus does today what Scripture proclaims he did in the days of his flesh.
The next essay will examine the statement, "... when he grew up, he covered up his death with his life. He got married, became an Episcopal priest, had kids, did what others did." That essay will be entitled, Empire.
If you wish to read more on this vital subject, consider C.S. Lewis' autobiography, Surprised by Joy.
The Rev. Robert J. Sanders, Ph.D.
