Do you remember Bette Midler’s “The Rose”?
Some say love it is a river … that drowns the tender reed; some say love it is a razor … that leaves your soul to bleed; some say love it is a hunger, an endless aching need. I say love it is a flower … and you its only need.
Initially I thought it was just another love song. Yet beyond the catchy tune and the deep feeling with which the artist sings the song, the lyrics were decidedly different, too. They had meaning.
It’s the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance; It’s the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes the chance; It’s the one who won’t be taken who cannot seem to give; And the soul, afraid of dying, that never learns to live.
Oh, these words were reminiscent of many sermons and stories in my past. I thought of the consequences of that great choice we all have of loving or not loving. I thought of the great risk we take whenever we extend ourselves beyond the limited confines of our own fears and selfishness.
… Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed…
I recalled the empty, pleading, and sad eyes of a beautiful young girl who was bitter at loving. The insensitivity of people had created a real void in her heart. Her peers were undeniably cruel. She had succumbed to the pain they had inflicted. The risk of love wasn’t worth the cost.
She told me, “Father, I can’t stand it anymore. Life is ‘kick before you get kicked. ‘Or better yet, ‘kill before you get killed. ‘“ I didn’t take her literally, but the intensity of her feeling frightened me. Somehow, she would never understand the words of my song.
… It’s the heart, afraid of breaking that never learns to dance…
I thought of marriages I have witnessed. Standing in the pulpit and gazing into the eyes of each couple, I have always spoken of love and its beauty. I’ve also been honest about its inherent risks. For as far back as I can remember I have used C. S. Lewis’ words on love’s possibilities. In his book, “The Four Loves,” he writes:
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your own selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable!”
… It’s the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes the chance…
I remembered the difficulty I had of applying Lewis’s words to my own life. I thought of disloyal friends and the games of people who were manipulators.
I looked back to a much younger time. I felt again in my soul the joys and pains of reaching out. I smiled at the peak experiences when two people mutually care for one another. I cried at feelings of confusion and misunderstanding and judgments which stung. I know I have been both a success and a failure at love.
A perfectionist dislikes viewing his own limited humanity and sinfulness. But there’s a feeling of solace when I discover I am fragile, vulnerable, and very much redeemable.
… It’s the one who won’t be taken who cannot seem to give…
When I think of the risk of love, I am especially grateful to God. I don’t regret for one moment the philosophy of love I have. I know my own personal growth experience will include future disappointments and heartaches. But I love being alive.
… And the soul, afraid of dying, that never learns to live.
To love or not to love? Tennyson voiced Lewis’ sentiments long ago when he said, “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” And Jesus told us to risk love when he challenged us with the words: “Whoever saves his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the Gospel’s will find it.”
When the night has been too lonely … and the road has been too long … then you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong … Just remember in the winter … far beneath the bitter snow … lies the seed that with the sun’s love … in the spring becomes the Rose.