The Knowing

This entry has been written over a couple of months, one paragraph at a time, so if it seems a little disconnected, you'll understand why.

"Loving is knowing," asserts Madeleine L'Engle in the second of her Time trilogy, A Wind in the Door.  Meg, the protagonist, faces the difficult task of loving her principal, Mr. Jenkins, whom she thinks is unlovable. Unless she can "name" Mr. Jenkins, setting him apart from his two impersonators, the Un-namers, evil will prevail. Meg finds that loving someone means not just feeling good toward him, but valuing him for who he is, so by remembering Mr. Jenkins' quirks, characteristics both good and bad, and a kind act she knows he did, she is able to both love and identify the real Mr. Jenkins.

I dislike L'Engle's writing style, particularly when reading aloud which I have been doing for my sisters' benefit, but I always learn from her books. Even though the plot is a little goofy and the dialogue unbelievable, the discovery of knowing and being known which Meg repeatedly makes throughout the story remains glorious.

Another writer who explores the subject of knowing, Charlotte Bronte, sends her heroine on a melancholy journey through excruciating isolation. The orphaned Lucy Snowe suffers so deeply from loneliness that she becomes physically ill, and she compares the want of companionship to the want of food. Repeatedly, Lucy bitterly remarks that certain characters do not understand her, though she knows them well. She studies the people around her and loves them even though their lives are too full to make room for her in them. When one man finally offers her friendship and seeks to know her, that relationship is a veritable feast for her soul. 

Both these stories resonated with my soul because, I think, my greatest desire right now is for someone to want to know me, and to pursue that knowledge relentlessly. But barriers are too easily built. I know that I prevent others from knowing me, and others prevent me from knowing them--we do this both consciously and otherwise. Why? Why when we are created relational beings do we hide from this knowing? Are we afraid of getting hurt? Afraid of rejection? Afraid to open up? Ashamed of what people might see in us? Too self-absorbed to care who someone else really is underneath all the layers of masks? Too proud to stoop to another's level? Too self-righteous to dirty our hands by holding another's? 

In a recent Bible study-ish discussion the C. S. Lewis quotation, "You have never met a mere mortal," came up and I was again reminded of this idea of knowing. Everyone is immeasurably valuable, but we often forget because we don't take the time to know or be known. My natural reserve must give way to openness to some extent; otherwise I will die of loneliness and--more importantly--will not be fulfilling my calling as a human. Love one another... be one, Jesus said. 

This is a lesson that has been ever before my mind this summer, recalled by literature, sermons, conversations, and just life. I have a feeling that this, so beautiful and simple in theory, is going to be difficult to learn practically.