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I recently heard the sad news of the death of one of the most important spiritual writers this century, Father Henri Nouwen.
Ever so occasionally you encounter someone or something which totally changes your way of looking at things, and leaves you, in some way or other, a different person. My first encounter with one of Henri Nouwen’s books was, for me, just such an encounter. The book was called “Reaching Out”. I had read books before on spirituality, prayer and the attempt to live a life in the Spirit of God, and I had been touched by the fine words and the moving testimonies contained within many of them, all of which pointed at the sort of life those Christians serious about their faith, like I so much wanted to be, should aspire to. But to my shame, I suppose, fine words and moving testimonies have never seemed to be enough to instill in me that lasting change in attitude or behaviour that I need.
The themes of Nouwen’s book, then, were not unfamiliar to me: a solitude and peace of heart towards oneself; a welcoming and undemanding hospitality towards others; and an attitude of constant prayer and devotion to God. I had heard all that before, and agreed most thoroughly with every point!
But how to live it?
How do I develop solitude and peace in my own heart when — more often than not — I am consumed by a vast loneliness, a voracious desire for attention and affection that can only put excessive demands on others? Can I ever really provide that gentleness and hospitality to everyone else, when all I really seem to be is a welter of pettiness, jealousy and shameful ulterior motives? And how I wish I could approach God day and night in an attitude of constant prayer! But how do I do that, when the life I’ve built, and continue to build, doesn’t provide the space or the time? Most of the time I just plain forget that that’s what I should be doing!
The strength and beauty of Nouwen’s book was that he asked these questions himself. Too often, it seems to me, those who think they have something to say about living the Christian life are speaking more from remembered cliché than from actual experience. Those that do write from experience tend to come across as saints, all very admirable but surely not someone I could actually emulate! “Reaching Out” was different. It was about being weak and vulnerable, about failing. But it was written with a quiet assurance that the sort of life I desire to lead is possible — ultimately — because I am not struggling alone.
I was hooked, and I began to find out more about the life of this writer who seemed able to speak to me in a way no-one had before. Perhaps I learned my greatest lesson from him less through reading his books than from seeing that he himself not only understood our painful questions, and began to discover answers, but that he lived them out too. From a highly successful career as a writer and travelling preacher who had wooed many thousands world-wide with his fine words, from successful teacher and lecturer (he taught at Harvard and Yale Divinity Schools, and the University of Notre Dame), he spent the last 10 years of his life at the L’Arche Daybreak Community in Toronto, sharing his life with the mentally disabled and their assistants as their pastor. He continued to write occasionally, and his writings make it clear that he found it no easy matter leaving behind his fame, his success, and the authority that he had worked hard to attain. But he saw in L’Arche the opportunity to learn for himself, from those already there, about the nature of God’s love. True love.
… Moving from teaching university students to living with mentally handicapped people was, for me at least, a step towards the platform where the father embraces the kneeling [prodigal] son. It is the place of light, the place of truth, the place of love. It is the place where I so much want to be, but am so fearful of being. It is the place where I will receive all I desire, all that I ever hoped for, all that I will ever need, but it is also the place where I have to let go of all that I most want to hold on to. It is the place that confronts me with the fact that truly accepting love, forgiveness and healing is often much harder than giving it. It is the place beyond earning, deserving and rewarding. It is the place of surrender and complete trust …
From the meditation on Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son
I think there is much that we can learn from all this, too, as university students, educated people. Nouwen found that after years of teaching about love, he had to learn for himself the real meaning of it.
How often have I dabbled in theological speculations, philosophical sophistications and socio-political formulations to fathom the ways and nature of the God who called me, who deep down I love and want to serve, even though I rarely show it? Too many times! And always for little or no purpose. The nature of God is Love. Only through understanding what that really means will I ever understand God. I have to learn to love people! Not just those who I think have something to offer me. Not just those that I find the most attractive. I have to learn to love all people. And in doing so, in learning about true compassion, I should not be pointing at me, asking for recognition and gratitude, but pointing beyond me to the source of the Divine Compassion which exists for everyone, if only we would stop being so stubborn and learn to look for it. In that way, and in that way only, am I called to be a ‘leader’ for others around me, in whatever walk of life I end up following. Simply being aware of this truth gives me a responsibility. How powerful, then, were Nouwen’s words for me when he wrote:
… Christian leaders cannot simply be persons who have well-informed opinions about the burning issues of our times. Their leadership must be rooted in the permanent intimate relationship with the incarnate Word, Jesus, and they need to find there the source for their words, advice and guidance. Through the discipline of contemplative prayer, Christian leaders have to learn to listen again and again to the voice of love and to find there the wisdom and courage to address whatever issue presents itself to them. Dealing with burning issues without being rooted in a deep personal relationship with God easily leads to divisiveness because, before we know it, our sense of self is caught up in our opinion about a given subject. But when we are securely rooted in personal intimacy with the source of life, it will be possible to remain flexible without being relativistic, convinced without being rigid, willing to confront without being offensive, gentle and forgiving without being soft, and true witnesses without being manipulative.
In the living of the Christ-life, we are called above all to imitate Jesus in His life of love. Jesus was consistently motivated by love. In the end He was literally consumed by love, for it led Him to a place called Calvary. He was brutally nailed to a cross and raised up midst the laughter and ridicule of enemies. He hung there, bruised and beaten, His body smeared with blood. There was the flush of fever mixed with the chill of approaching death. There was also a great spiritual anguish as He realized that down through the ages many would reject His redemptive love. It was a terrible scene, yet one permeated with a haunting beauty which came forth from the magnificent love of His Heart. His crucified figure, silhouetted against a darkening sky, is the everlasting reminder that to live is to love, and that to love involves not only joy, but also suffering.
That is Henri Nouwen’s challenge to me, and that is why he was such an important figure for me. That is a challenge which cannot help but to change me in some way, because I know it is something that I will never be able to totally forget about or ignore.
Henri Nouwen was a great spiritual writer, and a great man of God, because he came to understand the human heart. His heart. My heart. Our hearts. Hearts filled with that boiling, confusing mixture of love and joy, hate and despair that is so familiar to everyone. Hearts so capable of acts of the pettiest jealousy the one minute, gentlest compassion the next. But also, if only we knew it, hearts that sit so close to the place inside each and every one of us, without exception, where God chooses to dwell.
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Last modified: 25th November 2005