“Tensions, tension, tensions … between the center of the church that holds it all together and those who walk the edges, where fresh growth happens. Between living a life of prayer in the cloisters and walking with God on the streets. Between rejoicing in created things and being willed, if necessary, to let them go. Between experiencing opposition and not becoming embittered. Between knowing when to resist and when to surrender. Between surrendering to human control and surrendering only to God.”
His voice was riding to a crescendo, and the napkin rings scurried furiously to one side or the other of the opposing flanks building up on my embattled table.
“Will we ever resolve all these tensions?” He [Lopez/Ignatius] aimed this question first at heaven but then glanced pointedly at me. I suppose because we were now partners in a tension-beleaguered world. All I could do was raise my eyebrows, agreeing to question right along with him.
Then he suddenly spotted my guitar standing in the corner of the room.
“You play?” he asked.
“A bit,” I admitted.
“I love music,” he said. “Would you play something for me?”
I agreed, with some embarrassment, less than confident in my own ability.
Lopez fell silent and listened intently, growing calmer by the minute.
“That’s it!” he said when my little musical interlude petered out. “You’ve put your finger on it. My desire is to unite the human instrument with God, to bring my human self into resonance with the divine harmony and help others do the same. Your guitar knows more about this than we do. The music itself is the result of tensions. If the strings are not taut enough, there will be no music. If they are too taut, they will snap. My God!” he proclaimed with a yelp of joy. “Tension can be creative if we learn to hold it in balance. No tension equals no music. It’s not about eliminating tensions but about balancing them. All we need to do is hold the tensions and let God make the music.”
With a flourish, he swept the opposing armies together into a temporary truce, cast a broad. Contented smile across my ravaged table, and took off into the night.
Source: Margaret Silf, Just Call Me Lopez: Getting to the Heart of Ignatius Loyola, pp. 148-150.
His voice was riding to a crescendo, and the napkin rings scurried furiously to one side or the other of the opposing flanks building up on my embattled table.
“Will we ever resolve all these tensions?” He [Lopez/Ignatius] aimed this question first at heaven but then glanced pointedly at me. I suppose because we were now partners in a tension-beleaguered world. All I could do was raise my eyebrows, agreeing to question right along with him.
Then he suddenly spotted my guitar standing in the corner of the room.
“You play?” he asked.
“A bit,” I admitted.
“I love music,” he said. “Would you play something for me?”
I agreed, with some embarrassment, less than confident in my own ability.
Lopez fell silent and listened intently, growing calmer by the minute.
“That’s it!” he said when my little musical interlude petered out. “You’ve put your finger on it. My desire is to unite the human instrument with God, to bring my human self into resonance with the divine harmony and help others do the same. Your guitar knows more about this than we do. The music itself is the result of tensions. If the strings are not taut enough, there will be no music. If they are too taut, they will snap. My God!” he proclaimed with a yelp of joy. “Tension can be creative if we learn to hold it in balance. No tension equals no music. It’s not about eliminating tensions but about balancing them. All we need to do is hold the tensions and let God make the music.”
With a flourish, he swept the opposing armies together into a temporary truce, cast a broad. Contented smile across my ravaged table, and took off into the night.
Source: Margaret Silf, Just Call Me Lopez: Getting to the Heart of Ignatius Loyola, pp. 148-150.
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