This Sunday a women's trio at my church is performing another of Schutte's tunes, "Pilgrim Companions", since the lectionary, as nearly as I can recall from planning this a couple months ago, has to do with Christ's being the Bread of Life (John 6) and with our walking together as imitators of God, His beloved children (Ephesians 4-5)--two themes unified in "Pilgrim Companions".
How do we capture the idea of the now and the not-yet, of Christ feeding us but not entirely satisfying us until heaven? One of the stanzas in "PC" reads, "Over and over, we hunger for someone to feed us and fill our desire; when the God of our longing has courted and captured our hearts, we will hunger no more," and the refrain closes with, "Hungry yet hopeful, sustained by the love of the Lord."
Since college years, I've latched onto that phrase, "hungry yet hopeful," as the theme of my life. My life didn't start that way. Since age nine, I had been nurtured on John Foley's version of Psalm 16, "For You Are My God" (and just why did a pack of St. Louis Jesuits have so much standing in a Reformed church?—but that is a question for another day), and its refrain, "For you are my God, you alone are my joy…". I thought God alone had to be my joy—sort of a beatific vision. But in college I began reading Psalm 16 seriously and finally noticed that immediately after the statement, "I have no good apart from thee," the psalmist follows with, "As for the saints in the land, they are the noble, in whom is all my delight" (italics added). So I began to get an inkling that God does not want us to enjoy "just" Him, but Him in His creation.
But how to enjoy God in His creation? The sadness of the world has never been far from me (many toddler portraits show a melancholy face, whereas my little brother is beaming), as the world, God's creation, including those made in His image, is continually falling short of God's intentions for it.
I read a lot of C.S. Lewis then and nearly memorized (really) his Weight of Glory essay, in which he talks frankly about our hunger for that which is not in this world, for the glory that is to come. This is still different from God alone being our joy; Lewis talks rather about our delighting in our Father's approval and stepping into the harmony and unity of creation that was meant from the beginning.
Hungry yet hopeful. You see how this develops.
When I taught for a couple years at a Christian high school, one of the kids' favorites songs was called "Hungry": "Hungry I come to you, for I know you satisfy." I sort of liked this song, but was worried that the students would get the ideas (1) that Jesus is supposed to satisfy immediately, meaning sometime in this life, and (2) that something is wrong with the kids if they don't feel "satisfied by Jesus" despite all their devotional practices. There certainly was a lot of unchristian guilt spread around that campus, possibly associated with songs like this.
I tried to talk about unrealistic expectations for satisfaction. I tried, for example, to tell the students in some chapels that if they got married, it could just increase the loneliness. My husband, The Abbott, is my best friend and a far-above-average partner in caring for me and preparing for our baby, but the loneliness I experience on a daily basis is real and unanswered by this wonderful man; I see more clearly after marriage than before that the dearest of human partners will not satisfy this ache, this hunger, for complete harmony and unity with God and His creation. I'm not sure the students understood this; I'm not sure I explained it well enough, or that because of songs like "Hungry", anyone was capable of understanding this.
The subtlety of Bernard of Clairvaux's "Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts" helps us here. Two stanzas will suffice:
Jesus, Thou Joy of loving hearts,
Thou Fount of life, Thou Light of men,
From the best bliss that earth imparts,
We turn unfilled to Thee again.
We taste Thee, O Thou living Bread,
And long to feast upon Thee still;
We drink of Thee, the Fountainhead,
And thirst our souls from Thee to fill.
The now and the not-yet. We're still hungry--yet hopeful. They didn't often sing this at the high school.
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