Let’s talk about love.
Specifically, let’s talk about love as St. John Paul II understood it in his brilliant “Theology of the Body,” which we started discussing last month. As you may recall, we went back to the book of Genesis to explore the creation of man, in order to better understand ourselves and our relationship with God. I also introduced a line from the Vatican II document “Gaudium et Spes,” that man, being the only creature created for his own sake, finds himself only in a sincere gift of himself. (GS 24)
Last time we unpacked that first part, “created for his own sake.”
So now let’s look at that second part, “finds himself only in a sincere gift of himself.”
The Genesis account says that Adam was given the task of naming all of the animals. Adam had authority, dominion, over all of creation. Adam, in other words, had significant real estate holdings.
Adam was really, really rich.
And then God said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” Why not? Adam had power, wealth, control. But he wasn’t created to find fulfillment in power or wealth or control. He was created for relationship. He was created in the image and likeness of God, to only find true fulfillment in doing what God does, which is to give himself in love.
And remember, Adam is us. The message here is that we don’t find true fulfillment in wealth, in power, in control. That is definitely true of me. I keep forgetting, of course. I think “this much money or this achievement didn’t fulfill me the way I thought it would. But the next one will. Won’t it?”
But it doesn’t. Because like Adam, I am created for love.
What Adam sought — another human person — did not exist anywhere in creation. She had to come from God: “I will create a helper fit for him.” And he placed Adam in a deep sleep, removed one of his ribs, and out of it fashioned Eve. Eve is a gift from God to Adam. As Adam is a gift of God to Eve. As the people in our lives are gifts from God.
Let’s quickly digress to remember that Genesis is a book of theological myth. The truths it imparts are theological, not historical. It is a divinely inspired story exploring our creation as male and female, and our relationship with God. It is not a book of history. So, it’s okay to look past the literal idea of God ripping a rib out of Adam.
But there is important symbolism in that “rib.” This was finally one like him, another image and likeness of God. She is made of the same “stuff” he is made of. They are equal in dignity. We see it in Adam’s joy-filled exclamation when he first beheld Eve: “This at last is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.”
This was someone he could truly love.
It is important to note that Adam sees Eve the way God sees Eve, as good for her own sake. He isn’t saying, “Finally, somebody who can help clean up around here.” He is saying, “She is created by God, and she is precious to him. She is to be loved and treasured and protected.”
And fortunately for him, Eve was seeing him in the same way.
Notice that “Gaudium et Spes” doesn’t say “finds himself in being nice” or “finds himself in warm fuzzy feelings.” It says we find ourselves in a sincere gift of ourselves. This is the love that “Gaudium et Spes,” and the entire Christian life, is calling us to — to see every human person as loved by God, as created for their own sake, as possessing dignity. And to act like it. To look out for what is best for them. To make our lives a sincere gift to them, always. To sacrifice for them. To put selfishness aside. To put love into action.
It’s important to note here that the kind of love we are talking about is not a feeling. God never commanded us to “like” our neighbor. In this fallen world, that would be impossible. He calls us to love our neighbor; which is a decision, not a feeling. It’s a decision to look out for what is best for them. That is easy with the people we also happen to like. It is a little more difficult to practice among those who annoy us, who get on our nerves, or who we just plain can’t stand.
But we are called to love them all — to live what Walker Percy called “the scandal of the dignity of every human person.”
Love is strong. It’s powerful. But it isn’t always “nice.” Sometimes looking out for what is truly best for someone means allowing them to be challenged, or to experience the consequences of their actions, or to be locked up so that they can no longer hurt other images and likenesses of God. (Through the courts, of course. Not vigilante justice.)
Love means putting the other’s welfare first. Not in a “doormat” way, of course. We are created in the image and likeness of God as well, and the commandment says to love our neighbor as ourselves, not instead of ourselves. We don’t tolerate abuse against any image and likeness of God, including our own.
But love means stop thinking about ourselves so much. We get out of ourselves and our little, enclosed, selfish worlds.
Have you ever been alone and feeling sorry for yourself, and then pulled yourself out of it by reaching out to someone else in need? There is a depth of fulfillment that comes from loving — from making a difference in someone else’s life — that is difficult to replicate anywhere else in human experience.
That is what, in the Genesis account, Adam experienced in such a profound way when he first beheld Eve. “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.”
But we can also safely assume he noticed Eve was different than he was. Very different.
And that will be our topic next time.
Bonacci is a syndicated columnist based in Denver.
