November 6: Marius

I have been reading Victor Hugo's Les Miserables for the last few months. While doing so, I have identified with a certain character from this book, Marius. Marius, for personal and political reasons, refused to receive charity from his grandfather and thus became poor and desolate. After struggling for some years, he worked his way back onto his feet, and is subsequently portrayed as a better man because of his sufferings.

Though our situation is quite different, and though our "sufferings" are better described as adjustments, I found comfort in the words Hugo penned describing Marius. At Marius' lowest point Hugo stated, "He was experiencing what perhaps the earth experiences at the moment when it is sliced with the iron blade so that the grains of wheat may be sown; it feels the wound alone; the thrill of the germ and the joy of the fruit do not come until later" (Hugo). These words described our pain and struggles so accurately that I shivered when I read it. At the onset of our time here, and many occasions since, we have felt in some way or another as Marius did. Even so, there are so many areas of growth that would not have come without first the blade; the initial pain is so minuscule in comparison with the fruit that comes after.

One of these fruits is the broadening of my understanding of the greatness of God. Greatness is, indeed, a vague idea, but it is necessary. However, it is important that our vague understanding of God's greatness comes not from laziness in study, cowardice in conversation, or from a stagnant relationship with God. Instead, it should come from a severe reverie that recognizes God's majesty, love, patience, etc, with the understanding that He is so much greater than our understanding of His majesty, love, patience, etc. These things are the only way in which we can describe or explain him in our human terms and minds, but we should begin our thoughts with the assumption that these are inadequate; He is always exponentially greater in each attribute.

This knowledge of God's greatness increases when I view myself in light of it. For example, in my frustration and impatience, I cannot help but to recognize God's infinite patience; not only with me, which is an unfathomable feat, but also with the entire world. And not only the entire world as it is now, but also with the world from creation until the end of time. All people at all times-- incredible. Similarly, in my hatred I am reminded of God's infinite love. A person who rapes and murders is, by earthly standards, worthy of our scorn and punishment, and on most occasions (whether "Christians" admit it or not), our hatred. God, on the other hand, has extended his love to all people without exception. This is somehow simple yet perplexing. It is a lesson for a child as well as a phenomenon to shudder at the thought of. His love is simple enough to comfort and warm a child, yet so complex that we can hold it in juxtaposition with any other example of love and see them pale in comparison.

A glimpse into my heart is this: a person's wounds are real, painful, and sometimes overwhelming. Some wounds are paper cuts, and some wounds are far more painful than any other mortal can sympathize with. However, the wounds of a believer, if tended to correctly, yield fruit, and we can take hope the hand that prunes and slashes is the hand of God.

Drew