Scrawled on some pages on May 21, 2013
Love rages. It storms about in grief and sorrow, never shying from anger. Love without rage is merely the shallow attraction of gentle seasons. Love does not wither in the face of betrayal, sorrow, grief, rejection. No, love gives full voice to rage, mourning, weeping; love is not love that does not scream into the silences.
What then distinguishes love’s rage from mere anger, aggression, and malice? Love’s rage differs from all anger in this: it is a rage that transforms the lover. It may have no affect on the beloved, but love’s rage transforms the lover. Only through the journey of love’s rage does the lover learn the difference between mere pardon and forgiveness, between mere peace and reconciliation. A love that rages is a love that bleeds, that lays itself before the knife, that does not grit its teeth before the pain, but cries out under it, receives the full measure of its fruits. Only a love that has raged may be given to be a love that forgives, accepts forgiveness, liberates, and receives liberation.
Love’s rage is the birth pangs of freedom, the freedom that endures in gentleness, openness, willingness to yield, to receive.
Loves’ rage is love’s demand that all not-love, all un-love pass away and be transformed into love. Love rages because love is promise, promise that screams for fullness, for consummation.
Do not resist the pull of love’s rage, but give yourself to it’s waves. One need not fear the rage of love, for it leads not to wrath, but ever deeper into the ocean of love. The rage of love ends where love ends, in self-giving and rising to give yet again. It leads not to wrath, but to rapture, not to bitterness, but to freedom. Wrath and bitterness are born from refusing the rage of love altogether. Only by embracing it, by plunging in, by walking through the door, do we journey into love, and so, into freedom, into glory.