Today, we sat in a beautiful old church in Twin Falls, St. Edmund the Confessor. I was busy marveling at the particular beauty of a cherub carved into the wall (usually cherubs are no more than frighteningly fat babies, but this one actually looked heavenly and his face was beautiful, his attention held by something beautiful), when I realized I wasn't paying attention to the readings.
"Solomon was asked by God, "What do you want? I will give it to you.' And Solomon replied, 'Give me an understanding (discerning) heart.'"
I have often heard this verse, but have not understood it...with the wholeness of myself. Sometimes we 'understand' something only rationally, sometimes, only emotionally, sometimes we keep it at an admirable distance.
Perhaps, perhaps, because I have been so, so often in the last few years, in such a position of desperate asking: "Please take this pain away;" "Please heal me;" "Please help this situation;" perhaps because I have begun, with age, to really open the door to the sorrows of this world, the terrible poison of selfishness and pride that drives many of the evils in ourselves, in the world, perhaps because of this my ears were more open to Solomon's answer to the carte blanche of God.
"Give me an understanding, discerning heart."
I put myself there, in Solomon's place, and looked around at his world. Tremendous power, the power of judgment, but yet not a pagan king who is both king and god, but a king who knows he will answer to Him Who Sees. I saw the two prostitutes before him, and I realized that Solomon was in his wisdom, a prefigurement of Jesus; for the essence of Solomon's wisdom exemplified in the case of the prostitutes was a clear sight into the heart of another. I saw Jesus answering, in different situations, not the outward expressions, but the questions of the person's heart. I saw Him with a sight that ran clear and straight, like an arrow, into the center of the other.
His judgment, and that of Solomon, was based on the understanding of the heart.
Just by stepping into Solomon's vision for a millisecond, I realized that his request for an understanding heart was like asking for a spring on the land, rather than a house or servants or comfort; for how long will any of these things last if there is no water? It was like asking for the axe to be sharpened rather than asking for one tree.
I could see, in that millisecond of eternity, that if I had an understanding heart, I would be able to take the pain; I would be praying the best prayer for both those I love and for my enemies, because I would become the person they truly need; I would be praying the best prayer for the suffering in the world because I would become a person who could truly help, and would be able to discern between real love and ideology. I would be able to deal with suffering--better, I would be able to bring fruit out of it, with God, because I would understand....not as one understands logic, but as one knows another and loves them. It is the understanding of wholeness, the sight of love that runs clear like the straight arrow into the heart of the matter.
Solomon's life was not a straight journey, though. I have often felt the sadness of his descent, slow, into sin, and wondered how a man with wisdom like that was taken in. His journey was not a static moment of inspired prayer, but a wisdom that must be coupled with endurance, with perseverance, with the love that expresses itself in obedience to God. A daily, nomadic walk. It is the walk that Christ showed us: He, unlike Solomon, resisted the temptations in the desert, and sweat blood for obedience.
We leave tomorrow, on our nomadic way. I actually am now used to the nomadic life, and I like it. I like stopping at different places--not as on a vacation, from home and then back, but without a home. You really then live in each place, and the experiences are much more intense. Perhaps I have gypsy blood and it is now asserting itself.
I am hoping to get to the house of one of my cousins, Cameron. He's the male version of me, and oh, I had such fun as a child being silly with him. We were the tail end of the grandchildren, always getting in trouble. No one at Thanksgiving at 48 Cragmont Court, Grandma's house, thought we were wise. We were, rather, the jesters of the family.
What I have always loved about Cameron, though, is his open heart. He, like Father Percy, presses the gas pedal on every moment, and he is just--himself, living with you in the moment. That kind of person is precious, though sometimes it comes with a certain temptation to just live in that moment and not see the principles undergirding those moments. But neither is the super-rational wise; in some ways, I think Cameron's passion and openness is a more honest knowledge. Rationality can too easily become our own universe, impregnable to pain, or dissent.
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