"I See The Moon"

On particularly beautiful moonlit nights, when in good company and feeling exuberant, I often start singing a song called “I See The Moon.” Its childlike melody and sweet lyrics are irresistible, and  a surprising number of people have asked me to teach it to them after  embarrassing myself by belting it out in public.

                                                                                                                                                                                    

I see the moon

And the moon sees me

And the moon sees somebody I want to see

So God bless the moon

And God bless me

And God bless the somebody I want to see

As a little girl, watching the moon and watching the moon “follow” me shaped my understanding of the omniscient God. It was a visible example of how God could see everyone at once, yet focus on each individual. The moon “followed” me, but it also “followed” my mother. Knowing this did not diminish by one iota the amount of love I felt when the moon trailed my four year old head around the yard, somehow finding me everywhere…finding me again a few nights later, ready to resume our game of hide-and-seek.

This continuous pursuit was, and is, deeply comforting. Humans need continuity. In a transient and disorienting culture, points of contact stabilize us. That the moon will be visible to us, its cycle permitting, whether we move from Boston to Botswana is a wonderful gift. If we are far from all that is familiar, we can look at the moon, and receive a sense of place and proportion on this earth. It is a beacon that reminds us that we are always home.

It is difficult to imagine a world where anything else could be the case: an empty sky, night after night, lacking an object that every soul on the planet could point to in recognition. How isolated would we feel across countries and cultures if we did not have the moon in common,  uniting us with its light and beauty? How dark and hopeless would the world at night be, if all it ever contained was unchanging blackness? 

Of course, the moon is not ever-visible in the sky. Its phases change, sometimes we see only a part of it, and sometimes nothing at all.  However, the glorious truth of the moon, as my four year old self found with delight, is that it always returns. We know that we will see its visage again.  Moreover, its very changefulness manages to surprise us with new loveliness, and fill us with a wonder that would not be possible if it always came to us in exactly the same way.

Psalm 19 claims that the night sky reveals something of God: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.” The heavens, and indeed all of creation, speak to us in a language more meaningful than words. The handywork of God communicates directly with His creatures here on earth. It tells us about the Love that made us, and the Love that pursues us to this day.  

What does the moon say of God? I don’t know definitively, but I think it has said to me:

We are always under the moon’s sight. We are always under God’s sight. Because of our own lack of perspective, we cannot always see the moon. Because of our own lack of perspective, we cannot always see God.

No matter where we go or what we do, the moon never abandons us. No matter where we go or what we do, our Father never leaves us. We are always pursued and loved. We are always home.

“Love and Some Verses”: On Catholicism and Vowed Love

To me, some of the most beautiful and reassuring Catholic teachings are those related to marital love. When a friend admitted that they found Catholic teaching on the expression of physical love between unmarried couples counterintuitive, I pondered why that this point of theology always felt “right” to me. Not that it was easy, especially in regards to navigating the dating world, but that it always seemed right.

Catholic teachings on sexuality are centered on the essential dignity of the human soul. As all human beings are children of God, they should be approached with reverence. This is the cornerstone of our human dignity, which no one has the right to take away.

With this in mind, why does it follow that it is a breach of human dignity to seek sexual gratification outside of marriage? Why should human beings confine their sexuality to one person, namely, their spouse?

In the words of Catholic theologian Alice von Hildebrand, sex is a “donation which by its very nature calls for total commitment to another person...one cannot give oneself to many persons simeoultaneously.”

In our era of casual hookups, threesomes, and polyamoury, many people might take umbrage with this idea. Why not give physical affection to whomever inspires it and consents to it? It makes people feel good. Who does it really hurt?

Even without looking at the potential consequences of this line of reasoning, like pregnancy, or sexually transmitted diseases, the problem with sex outside of marriage lies in its negligence of the act itself. Non-marital sexual gratification is a problem because it does not give us or our partners Enough.

Instead of wanting what is truly best for someone first, we want something else. We want to experience pleasure, and give the other person pleasure, but what is good and right for them eternally- for their soul as well as their body- is not uppermost in our mind.

It can’t be. We have denied them the vows of self-sacrifice, exclusivity, and permanency that we give in marriage. Instead, we are in a “deciding” place, a place of learning and exploring how we feel about someone,  not a place of vowed submission to the cause of the highest good of that individual.

This is not only less than what the other person deserves, it cheats us of the great joy we experience when the giving of our bodies is complete. Von Hildebrand calls this “the sweetness of a mutual self donation, accomplished in trembling reverence.”

And it is sweet. Deeply, powerfully, sacredly sweet.

Though not a theologian, or even a  Catholic, singer-songwriter Sam Beam of Iron and Wine encapsulates everything that is “right” about sacramental love in his song, “Love and Some Verses”. Bear with me, I was an English major, and poetry and lyricism sometimes actually help me to get a better handle on certain concepts. 

~

Love is a dress that you made long/To hide your knees 

This first line reflects the safety and protection we have within vowed love. We are completely exposed in physical love; Adam “knew” Eve. Yet, someone’s complete acceptance of us, as wholly manifested by the consecration “the two shall become one flesh”,  shelters us. Their consideration of our own happiness, as secured by their promise to love us as their own body,  protects us. We are the most vulnerable we will ever be, but knowing that someone will love us as they love themselves, even to the point of dying for us, makes us safe within our vulnerability.

We all deserve to be loved this sacrificially.

Love to say this to your face/I'll love you only

When someone “loves us only”, it imitates the ecstatic completeness Adam and Eve had with one another in the Garden of Eden.  Exclusivity says: “You are enough for me. You are all I need.” Isn’t this exactly what our partners deserve? Isn’t this exactly what we deserve? When we hand our bodies over to someone, when we physically give ourselves to another human being, don’t we want to believe that our offering will satisfy them? Yet, by sharing this experience without first committing to our partner exclusively, we are essentially saying: “You might not be enough for me.” This attitude does not do justice to someone’s surrender of himself or herself. What does justice to surrender is giving your partner the grace of knowing that their complete giving is completely enough for you. That they themselves are enough.

We all deserve to be loved exclusively.

From your changing contentments/What will you choose for to share?

Someday drawing you different/May I be weaved in your hair?

The nature of humanity is to grow and to change. Women’s very bodies are cyclical, and this aids in the propagation of life, and the continual re-creation of our ever changing world. We are not always the same people we were on our wedding day. Our bodies change, our minds adapt and grow to accept different ideas, and our wants and desires change, as formed by our life experience. In the rite of marriage, we vow to love and honor our spouse through these changes for the rest of our lives.

The question, “someday drawing you different/may I be weaved in your hair?” is a beautiful illustration of the trust and unconditional acceptance that is worthy of the sexual gift. Though our partner may change from the person we married, we are still woven into them. We are a part of them. We cannot be extracted by time or other external or internal forces.

The symbol of physical oneness is only fully realized in this truth of being one for life. What makes the death of physical oneness bearable at its completion is the reality of a deathless love.

So, throughout our partner’s “changing contentments”, as well as our own, we choose to share our love. Our giving of ourselves will not stop once it suits us. Nor is our love dependent on our partner staying the same. We give them the freedom to become whom they are meant to be, and we come along to share their journey. And how much better is the journey with love on our side?

We all deserve to be loved for life.

~

Ultimately, as von Hildebrand states, sex is “meant to be at the service of the deepest human aspiration: love.” Our giving of our bodies both reflects and is informed by the giving of our whole selves. Let us not do injustice to the most sacred of acts by giving it less than it deserves. Let us "taste the true beauty of a sexual union based on mutual love, and lived in reverence."