Loved to Excess
As I was cleaning dishes at the kitchen sink, I overheard my 5-year-old daughter talking to my 2-year-old son. They were sitting at our little dining table, eating berries and toast. JoyAna’s enthusiastic and entertaining monologue had somehow pivoted from a princess-dinosaur story to the wonder of grapes to this: “Eli, did you know that God loves you more than two full timers’ worth?!”
For context, JoyAna was right in the midst of transitioning her midday rhythms from nap to “rest time.” This meant that if she couldn’t fall asleep after trying for a while, we would give her a full-hour timer wherein she could listen to books on tape, play pretend with toys, color, etc. At the beginning of this transition, JoyAna found it excruciating. She was restless, unaccustomed to the sense of waiting and not getting whatever it was she wanted right when she wanted it (certainly not exclusive to children…a terrain with which I’m very familiar).
One full timer…one whole hour…is the longest time anyone should have to endure anything…ever. And so, it is hard for me to imagine a stronger articulation of the inexhaustible, infinite reality of God’s love than for JoyAna to equate it to “more than two full timers’ worth.” And this is, in fact, the deepest reality of all of our lives. This is the ground of our existence. God loves you and me more than two full timers’ worth. This is the center from which we live and move and have our being.
St. Elizabeth of the Trinity, whose feast day we celebrate on November 8, is a herald of the contemplative way in the Christian tradition. Born in France in the late 19th century, Elizabeth became a Discalced Carmelite at an early age. She insisted upon the reality of the indwelling Trinity, proclaiming that God is always at home in the human soul and praying for God to make her soul His heaven and to give her the grace to ‘never leave [God] alone there.’ Elizabeth displays for all of us the foundation on which contemplative life rests – God’s ever-present, intimate dwelling in the depths of the human person.
O my God, Trinity whom I adore, help me to forget myself entirely that I may be established in You as still and as peaceful as if my soul were already in eternity. May nothing trouble my peace or make me leave You, O my Unchanging One, but may each minute carry me further into the depths of Your Mystery. Give peace to my soul; make it Your heaven, Your beloved dwelling and Your resting place. May I never leave You there alone but be wholly present, my faith wholly vigilant, wholly adoring, and wholly surrendered to Your creative Action.
(a portion of St. Elizabeth’s Prayer “Trinity Whom I Adore,” November 21, 1904)
One of the recurring phrases she would use in her writing to describe this indwelling God came from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians: “There is a word of St. Paul that is like a summary of my life and that could be written on each moment of it: propter nimiam charitatem. Yes, this torrent of grace shows that ‘He has loved me excessively.’” She was found constantly reiterating that God loved her to excess.
It seems to me that Elizabeth of the Trinity and my daughter, JoyAna, are gesturing to the same superabundant, immeasurably great nature of God’s love. Two full timers’ worth is quite excessive.
And for Elizabeth it is significant that we have access to this divine excess – this “abyss of love.” It is available to us, experienceable through the Holy Spirit in Mass, Scripture, prayer, common life with others, and the most mundane tasks of our daily lives. “You find the Good Lord at the laundry room as well as at prayer. There is nothing but Him everywhere. You live Him, breathe Him,” she wrote in a letter to her sister Marguerite.
For Elizabeth this stemmed from her commitment to live interiorly, present to the Presence of God within her depths. She remained in touch with the divine indwelling through recollection that safeguarded an inner attentiveness and availability to God. From this she encountered (and was transformed by) the presence of Jesus in all her work and relationships and the movements of her soul.
So how can we remain in touch with the divine indwelling in our own lives? Parker Palmer describes contemplation in all its forms as anything that “penetrates illusion and helps us touch reality.” In my own life, a silent notice walk, centering prayer, lectio divina, the daily office, works of mercy and friendship with those made periphery in my community, even the boisterous and playful care of children – these are all channels of return along the way. Perhaps most significantly in this season of my own life, a simple pause in the middle of the day for a 10-minute prayer, quiet, or psalm-reading can re-ground my presence in the mystery of divine indwelling. My mid-day moments of recollection these days are often accompanied by this “Mystery Hymn.”
Friendships that disrupt the dominant logic accentuating performance, production and achievement offer me a renewed vision of the human person that is founded on unshakeable belovedness. Through the regular confrontational reminders that my money, time, and stuff are not mine alone and that my way of life is bound up with the flourishing of all, I am learning the common roots sourcing all of life – the radical, excessive love of God, whose character is always to have mercy. These works of mercy oriented toward the surprise of friendship help me touch the reality of God’s heaven-making in me.
This is your anchoring, too. Before you are even aware…God loves you to excess. God’s excessive love as revealed in Jesus Christ imprints all creation with grace. Receive a moment and let that settle in to you, specifically you. I invite you into breathing that deeply. In a world marked by complexity and fragmentation, the bold simplicity of St. Elizabeth’s message penetrates the illusions of separation and puts us in touch with reality.
You are cherished. God loves you more than two full timers’ worth. God is always at home with us, dwelling in us. His persistent invitation is for us to come home, to stay with Him there, to live from that center of excessive love. May it be.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Greg Little is a husband to Janice and father to JoyAna and Elias and Terese (Resa), and he has a home at Corner House in Durham, North Carolina. He has learned from various schools, including several Christian communities seeking justice and peace (a Catholic Worker home inspired by St. Francis, Durham’s Friendship House and Haiti’s Wings of Hope) and is committed to a life ordered by daily communal prayer and littleness. He works at Reality Ministries, a place proclaiming that we all belong to God in Jesus through fostering friendship among people with and without developmental disabilities. Greg and Sister Julia recently met in the wonder of interfaith dialogue about monasticism and the contemplative life at Mepkin Abbey in Moncks Corner, South Carolina.
