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"Restless Hearts Yearn for God" is the title of a short article a
friend sent me quite a while back. In a outward-directed, goal-
oriented world where there is an answer and a cure for everything,
where all is attainable and results must come quickly, where we are
bombarded with advertisement that assures us that our longings can be
fully satisfied by plasma TVs, Toyota Tundras, and even odor-killing
Breeze, the article seemed almost medieval.
Today, we don't live with our restlessness. In Nicaragua, in 1992-95,
I would sit down every two or three months and write a letter which a
friend in Seattle would photocopy and mail to my friends,family and
supporters in Canada and the USA. The letter represented weeks spent
in the countryside, days and nights of "slow" living, the
distillation of long thoughts. In 1994, e-mail arrived in Nicaragua
and the next generation of Witness for Peace volunteers spent an hour
or more a day "talking" to friends and family back in the USA. Now
blogs make this instant spouting available to anyone. Some of the
latest books I've read are obsolete before the first copy comes
rolling out of the presses - oops, rolling out of whatever! They are
not worth keeping and rereading.
We are incomplete and nothing other than God can make us complete or
as Augustine said over 1500 years ago: "You have made us for
yourself, Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you."
It was that quote that struck me when I read the article. I had
heard it often in high school. I sensed then that the teacher who oft
repeated it lived this restlessness. She also taught us the "Hound of
God" in literature. Restlessness was part of life. We couldn't get
away from it.
After over 50 years and dozens of self-help books to find one's self,
it's the "old" that once again makes sense. We are incomplete and
will always be. It's that incompleteness that fires us to life.
Those "immortal longings" give us our immortality, our timelessness.
Our longing is real, congenital, a holy restlessness put in us by God
to push us towards the infinite. The insatiability of our hearts is a
call to infinite love. Our symphonies are incomplete.
Cecily
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