Every conversion is unique. Epiphanies are often complete surprises. So it was with a student of mine who entered my philosophy class as an atheist, left as a Catholic, and is now a priest in the order of The Companions of the Cross. Sitting on my desk, reminding me that my teaching has not been in vain, is a statuette he sent me from Fatima that reads, in Portuguese, In Fatima I prayed for you (em Fatima rezei por ti). Grace transcends distance as well as time.
Between my student and the Deity was a third person who served as a catalyst, a middle term, so to speak. He is George Herbert, a seventeenth century metaphysical poet, priest, theologian, and orator. Shortly before he passed away at age 36, he sent his collection of unpublished poems to his friend, who was also a publisher, instructing him to publish them if he thought they might “turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, otherwise burn them.” Here was an extraordinary act of both humility and trust.
The poems were published in a book which went through eight editions in a relatively short period of time. Today they are found in standard anthologies of poetry. Henry Vaughan, another distinguished poet, said of Herbert that he was “a most glorious saint and seer.” Malcolm Muggeridge praised him as, “the most exquisite religious poet in the English language.”
George Herbert suffered a great deal, physically, prior to his early demise. The words of the Greek playwright, Aeschylus, can very well be applied to him: “He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”
The passage of time does not hinder the passage of grace. Herbert’s poem that I used in class is entitled, “The Pulley.” It develops a religious theme in a way that is easy to follow, but lofty in its significance and unified by a clever play on the word “restlessness.”
St. Augustine’s most repeated line is that “our hearts are restless until then rest in Thee.” “The Pulley” pays homage to these words, though in a less quotable manner.
“The Pulley” is a kind of story. When God created man, he showered him with many blessings: riches, strength, beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure. But God decided that he would keep the “rest,” which is “rest,” for himself. “Let him keep the rest (all the gifts other than rest), but keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be sick and weary, that at least, if goodness lead him not, yet weariness may toss him to my breast.”
Man’s restlessness, his dissatisfaction with all his gifts, will lead him to find rest in God. The ultra-rich are not content with merely being ultra-rich. Their heart’s desire is for rest, that peace of soul that passes understanding. I recall actress Patty Duke talking about her move to a luxury apartment and within a few days feeling not happy but “restless.”
God is a pulley who draws man to Himself because only in Him do we overcome that restlessness we experience when we seek rest elsewhere. The highly acclaimed motion picture, Citizen Kane, is based on the theme that restlessness increases as one’s material possessions increase. The accumulation of money can interfere with personal authenticity. As Charles Foster Kane confesses, “If I hadn’t been very rich, I might have been very great.”
Life offers us moments of contentment, but not lasting joy. We are tempted to turn these moments into idols, but soon discover that they quickly lose their flavor. It is as if, as the character in Francis Thompson’s poem states, we “cling to the whistling mane of every wind.”
We usually think of grace as falling upon us, like rain. But it is equally valid to think of grace as moving in the opposite direction, as pulling us up to God. Romano Guardini, in his book, Freedom, Grace, and Destiny, speaks of grace in this manner: “The whole process by which God has approached man with His free benevolence, spoken to him, raised him up to a special personal association with Himself, and given him a vitality proceeding from God’s very life—all this is grace, in the proper sense.”
In the case of my student, grace converged from several intermediate sources, yet all originating from the same source in Christ. That Herbert’s poetry was published, and not burned was, no doubt, a moment of grace. Grace is available and can arrive in the most unexpected ways and in the most unlikely places. Sir Derek Wolcott, a poet and Nobel Laurate, has said that, “The poet complains and points out the discontent that lies at the heart of man, the individual man, and how it can be redeemed.” George Herbert has beautifully stated both the problem and the answer. Our discontent is a divine discontent, one that urges us to seek our final contentment with God. It is most encouraging to know that God is a pulley. He has already won half the battle for us.
There are many rewards associated with teaching. But for me, there is no higher reward than playing a role, however small, in the promotion of a student from darkness to light, but especially from restlessness to rest in and for the Lord.
Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash
