ENCOUNTERING LOVE: A reflection of Buber’s “I and Thou.”
While in graduate school, the one book I read that has altered the way I see God in the world was Martin Buber’s theological masterpiece, I And Thou. Within that slim but difficult volume, is one distinct message. God is in love with us. The first sentence of the book said it all. “In the beginning was relation.” This is a restatement of the very first sentence of the Bible, “In the beginning was creation.” (Genesis 1:1) Within that very simple declarative sentence is infused the great love of God for all that God has created. Buber then reveals the ways in which we are able to encounter God’s love. Buber calls these meeting places with God, thresholds.
The first of these thresholds is nature. The delicate petals of a flower, the hymn of praise heard in birdsong, the lush green of a forest, the magnificent colors of a sunrise and sunset, the light display of the Aurora Borealis, the immensity of the ocean, the majestic height of mountains, and the awe striking display of power within a thunderstorm are all meeting places in which we encounter God.
There is something that is stirred within us when the “self of God” is revealed in nature. We are utterly changed. We no longer take for granted the petal of a flower. We hear God sing to us in the joy of a bird greeting the dawn. Our vision is expanded as the array of color of a sunrise or sunset passes through the retinas of our eyes into our souls. The dance of light displayed in the Aurora Borealis fills our hearts with wonder. The immensity of the ocean or the height of a mountain reveals to us our own insignificance. The great power of the thunderstorm strips from us the superficiality of our own power, displaying to ourselves our own naked helplessness. Encountering the great love of God in nature utterly alters us.
The second of these thresholds is our interpersonal relationships. Buber calls these interpersonal relationships windows, through which we look upon the face of God.
The first of these interpersonal relationships is that which is shared between a mother and her baby. Think of the mother cradling her baby in her arms, pressing the baby to her breast and nursing her baby. Think of the attentive, loving care of the mother for her baby’s every need. Is it any wonder that scripture speaks of our relationship with God as one of an infant nursing at the breast of God our Mother?
The second of these interpersonal relationships is that of the love expressed between two lovers. The loving caress, the touch of a kiss, the full and loving embrace of two lovers, the lilting, musical play of a lover’s voice, the joy upon seeing one’s lover, the way our lover’s smile makes our own heart smile, are all ways of encountering the loving presence of God.
I have said and will continue to say to the time that I die, that my greatest experience of God has been in my wife, Ruth. In her arms I feel God embrace me. In her gentle touch, God caresses me. From her lips I hear God say, “I love you,” and, “I forgive you.” As I gaze into her deep, brown eyes, I look upon the face of God.
The third of these interpersonal relationships is that which we share with others. In the companionship between two good friends, in the helping hand to those who are in need, in the laughter and the tears we share with others, in all the loving interactions we have with others, we encounter the love of God.
The third threshold is that place within ourselves in which we encounter the mystery of God. Imprinted into our very DNA is the DNA of our God who knew us, even before we were conceived in our mother’s womb. Of all the three thresholds of Buber, this is the one that is the least concrete and objective, and the most abstract and subjective.
This threshold is as unique to each individual as each snowflake is individual. The experience of God at this level is not something that can be replicated and passed on to others. It is something that is so intimate and so beyond human expression that words will never capture its full significance.
I encountered this threshold very powerfully at the birth of my son, Andy. Standing behind the doctor and in watching my son, my baby, emerge from Ruthie’s womb is best described as standing in the Holy of Holies. It was my Moses’ experience of encountering the flaming bush. It was my witnessing the creation of the universe and the resurrection of Jesus. The presence of God so filled that delivery room that I reached out into the air around me and physically touch God’s face. It was so powerful that I was unable to sleep the remainder of that night, pondering, contemplating what I had just experienced.
I encountered this threshold again in a single chord. I was driving home from the St. Paul Seminary in which I had an evening class. As I drove along Mississippi Boulevard, I listened to a recording of Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring Suite.” In this musical suite of the major melodies from Copland’s ballet, “Appalachian Spring,” just following the vibrant variations on the Shaker Hymn, “Simple Gifts,” the tempo of the music slows and the dynamics grow quieter. At that point, one simple chord is sounded. I had listened to this musical piece countless times, however, this night, driving along Mississippi Boulevard in St. Paul, within that one simple chord played by the orchestra, I heard God’s voice, and I wept. I wept so hard that I began to sob and had to pull over to the side of the road until I quit sobbing and could safely continue my journey home. All the way home, I contemplated the sound of God’s voice in that simple chord, and, like my experience of God in the delivery room, could not sleep the rest of the night.
I encountered this threshold another time, sitting at the death bed of a parishioner. She was comatose and in the long process of dying. The head of her bed was raised so that she could breathe easier. Her family gathered around her bed, as I sat down next to her, took her left hand into my left hand, and began the prayers of the Commendation of the Dying. As I began the words of the closing prayer, “Go forth, Christian soul, from this world in the name of God the Father who created you,” her eyes suddenly opened and she looked directly at my eyes, but it was not me she was seeing. She was looking through me to the presence of God directly behind me. I continued the prayer, “ in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, who suffered for you, in the name of the Holy Spirit, who was poured out upon you, go forth faithful Christian. May you live in peace this day, may your home be with God in Zion, with Mary, the virgin Mother of God, with Joseph and all the angels and saints.” and as I concluded the prayer with an “Amen,” she closed her eyes and died. There was the sound of a collective intake of air from her family as they realized what had just happened, and a murmur from one to the other of “did you see what just happened?” After a little while, I took leave of the family, went back to my parish office and sat in silence for about three hours contemplating the experience of God I had had.
One other powerful experience of this threshold was in a hospital in the middle of the night in mid-October of 2011. I had just had my 5th surgery in as many months, the incision on my left leg opened again to release the poison of the MRSA infection I got from a hip replacement in June. I was in pain, and despairing as to if I would ever be cured of this infection that had left me without a hip for such a long time. I prayed the same prayer I had prayed the moment I was told I had MRSA, to be cured of this infection, wondering whether God heard my prayer at all. Unable to sleep, I picked up my iPod, put on my earphones and played the James Chepponis setting of Mary’s “Magnificat” from the Gospel of Luke. As the woman on the recording began to sing, “Proclaim the greatness of God; rejoice in God, my Savior! Rejoice in God, my Savior!” the pain lessened, and a calm settled within my spirit. I knew at that moment my prayer had been answered. Two and a half months later, the MRSA was killed and I was able to finally get an artificial hip.
I mention these four examples of Buber’s third threshold because of an encounter I had with God at Mass two weeks ago. I was playing the music for the 10 am Mass at St. John the Evangelist, one of the three church sites in the parish of St. Wenceslaus. I was doing what I call “liturgical cocktail music” that is, playing the keyboard and cantoring at the same time. (For some reason that elicits for me an image of the piano/singer in cocktail bars.) This encounter happened immediately following the consecration of the bread and wine in the Eucharistic prayer, and the singing of the Memorial Acclamation. As Fr. Dave Barrett continued the Eucharistic Prayer, the words he was praying came alive for me. I heard them in ways I had never heard them before. It was God proclaiming Divine friendship and love for all people. It was God declaring the inclusive expression of love to all creation at the beginning of time. It was a declaration that all of humanity and all of creation is swept up into this magnificent gesture and expression of love.
Since 1977, I can safely say that I have celebrated over 8,300 Masses. This is just the Sunday Masses and does not include the weekday Masses, funerals, weddings, Confirmation Masses and other Masses celebrated for various reasons. Why has it taken me so long? One would think that in the countless number of Masses at which I have been since I was born, the countless number of Masses at which I have played and directed choirs, the countless number of Masses at which I have assisted as a deacon, I would have heard this epiphany from God long before this one particular Sunday. There was nothing different in the inflection of Dave’s voice as he prayed the Eucharistic Prayer, nor anything remarkable about the playing or the singing of the Memorial Acclamation. However, at this one time, seemingly, just for me, the “self of God” was revealed to me again. When I left St. John’s, I drove to Memorial Park and on that cold, winter day, parked in an isolated area and meditated upon that which I had just experienced. This reflection is the cumulative expression of that which I encountered that Sunday morning at Mass.
Buber is so correct. The encounters we have with God are numerous and often leave us unable to express in any adequate terms that which we have experienced. Each and every one of these encounters are personal, precious, and life-altering. They are those gifts that God gives to us to remind us that we are dearly loved and we are never, ever alone. For a moment, just a moment, the revelation of that which awaits beyond death is made known to us, and leaves us speechless and in awe.
