love never fails

As part of the spiritual book club at church, I am reading Paul, a novel, by Walter Wangerin, Jr. It is fictionalized, and is, I've been told I'll find, clearly not Catholic in nature. Still, the reason it was chosen was to give a perspective on the life of a man that a dear friend calls "a great Bible dude." I'm enjoying the story, told from the perspectives of many of Paul's friends and followers, as well as Paul himself.

Some of the parts that affect me the most are not related to Paul's teachings (at least, I haven't seen the connection yet!) per se. I'm becoming attached to Prisca in particular. She and Aquila, tent-makers by trade, take Paul in when he arrives in Corinth. She taken in by his voice and teachings. In her musings, she begins to touch on deep feelings that I can relate to, regarding grief combined with anger and bitterness.

So then I was suffering something infinitely more killing than loneliness. Anguish of the heart. Violent, physical spasms of guilt. Poor Aquila watched with a heavy-handed helplessness. Do you know?--I felt such sympathy for him in those days. And there was a part of me that wanted terribly to comfort him. But it was the smallest part. I couldn't help my husband either, could only cry, would not control my tears -- causing him his own sort of loneliness. (p. 211)

I could feel her pain. I could feel her desire to reach out to another who was grieving. Prisca's father had said cruel words to her about her mother's death, wanting to make her feel as though she was the reason; that their leaving Rome may have contributed to her death. The reasons for Prisca's pain were much greater, on a much grander scale than any pain I have suffered. And yet, the pain of shared loneliness is something I am familiar with.

For Prisca and Aquila, the cycle was broken by the arrival of Paul. In many ways, I can relate to that, too. Paul wrote and taught of Love. There is nothing greater than Love. But Love needs an entrance. That loneliness combined with guilt built a wall; reinforced a barrier between two hearts. I've been there, feeling as though I should comfort, but wishing (who am I kidding? Demanding!) for more comfort toward me.

Like Prisca, I now realize that an outpouring of love is what allows comfort. And an outpouring, and acceptance, of Love. One comes from those around us, who may or may not know and understand our pain, but are willing to listen, to hear, to cry and laugh, to hug, and even to ask difficult questions from time to time. The other comes from Someone Greater. One who does understand our pain and suffering, and would never minimize it, but can help us to put it into perspective.

I am forever grateful to a dear person I consider a friend who insisted that Love Heals All Wounds. He was right. I'm pleased to be in the transcendent company of one who heard those words first from Paul (where, honestly, I had heard them, too; I just had never thought to apply them to my own life when it really counted!), and then went on to share them with others. At least in this story.

Regardless, the lesson is the same. It is real. Love is Real.