In that wonderful musical, Fiddler on
the Roof by Joseph Stein, Tevye, in what proves to be a life-altering
moment, asks of his wife, “Do you love me?” To which she replies
with a list of the many things she has done for him and with him over
the twenty-five years of their marriage. Finally, after listing all
of those things she has done, she concludes that yes, she supposes
that she does indeed love him, since she can think of nothing else it
could be.
A few years ago, I would have said
that people's use of the word love was becoming more widespread, and
that people were using it over-much and making light of it; using it
to describe anything and everything remotely connected with any kind
of human relationship or attraction. Now, I think, I would have to
say that there seems to be a relative decline in the use of that
word. But whatever the popular usage, it is clear that as living
creatures in a living world, we know less of love than we do of, say,
gasoline prices or world events.
Having been both a child and a parent,
I have seen human relationships from many angles and have used and
seen the word 'love' used in numerous settings from the profane to
the profound. I've seen it thrown at people in fits of anger, seen
it gently fall from the lips of newlyweds, watched it caress the brow
of a tiny child and been held by it in the heart of another. The
word seems to mean so many different things in so many different
situations that to capture it in one succinct definition becomes a
nearly impossible task.
Most people, I believe, would define
love as something you 'show' to someone. Like Tevye's wife who
listed the cooking, cleaning and bearing children which she had
performed in behalf of her husband. This, to her, was the meaning of
love. In other words, she showed her love by the things she did. I
have been in many church classrooms where we were asked how we could
'show' our love, and the answers always tended in the same direction
as Tevye's wife: helping, kind words, thoughtful deeds, etc. This,
I suppose, is the evidence we might present in order to prove that we
love someone. Unfortunately, it is only circumstantial evidence and
not always conclusive.
There are some who, in an attempt to
'prove' their love, offer such deeds as proof and then, demand
acknowledgment and reciprocation. As if to say, “Look what I have
done for you because I love you. Now, I deserve something in
return.” Parents sometimes treat their children in this way,
expecting the same kind of 'love' they have been giving.
In the well-known scriptural
definition of Love, it describes more of what love is not, than of
what it is, as in: not envious, not puffed up, not seeking her own,
not easily provoked. Thus I have asked myself: Is love the good
deeds we do, or the evil ones we do not do, or is it something else
entirely? Love certainly has degrees of intensity and strength, but
for my understanding, I wished to know the highest and best meaning,
having already seen much of what I would consider the least and
lowest forms of what has been or might be called love.
In the words of Oliver from the
musical of the same name by Lionel Bart, based on the book, Oliver
Twist by Charles Dickens, “Where is love?” Many times I have
asked myself this question and as many times, have come to the
conclusions above.
Then, unexpectedly, love came, a gift,
unannounced, and smiled upon me, embraced me from the inside out,
healed my wounded soul and lifted me up. Without words, I learned
instantly that Love is real, but not really the things we do. Love
is alive, but we must allow it and believe it in order to feel it.
Love sings, but not with the voice. Love heals, but more with the
heart than with the hands. And, shining through the universe from
the brightest, star to the tiniest particle of microscopic matter is
Love: iridescent, fine, endless, true, astonishingly beautiful and
magnificent.
