This series has been written by a divorcee, by a man whose success in love and loving is limited. My right to give advice is questionable. The act of doing so is not only ironic, but also somewhat humorous. I say all that, not to shame myself, but to assure my reader that if I speak with any authority, it is not my own. If I ask for the impossibility of perfection, it is only because Our Father in Heaven asks this very thing of us as well.
The scientist can enumerate many of the elements of the universe. A philosopher can recognize the universe as a cosmos, a poetic array of all things. But it is only the fool who can say, “yes, and I have found it here in you, and wish to see it reflected back in your eyes.” It is only the fool who having seen something so vast and glorious, now commits himself to some particular point of creation. Paradoxically, it is only the fool who, having limited himself to some corner of the universe, shall come to possess it all.
There is no formula, no law, no feeling no thought or instinct strong enough to realize such radical and risky commitment. Neither romance nor principles and prudence are enough. The fool is insufficient to make such a complete, wholehearted gift of himself. But there is hope yet for one who depends upon the greatest and most wholehearted fool who ever walked the face of the earth. That Fool, that great lover of men, allowed himself to be raised up upon a cross, in order to institute a new age of wisdom, in which the folly of love would confound the wisdom of the world.