London School of Economics crest Yesterday I walked a couple of blocks to the local parish’s Lenten fish fry. My sister had recommended it saying the fish was good and the people friendly. My refrigerator was empty and enjoying at least one Lenten fish fry sounded like a good idea.
On my way to the stone church hall, I passed patches of bluets splattered beneath huge trees hung with swelling buds. A close look at harshly trimmed shrubbery growing along stuccoed walls that separated high priced condos from the ordinary sidewalk revealed honeysuckle in bloom. Brave, those flowers, or naive: What of a sudden burst of winter? We have had them before, in April. Winter, denied, shows up for one final display reminding us it can come if it wants to. As I walked, scents of spring filled the air, mingled with birdsong, and I hoped winter would stay where it has hidden these past few months and save its bluster for next year.
The line at the parish hall was long…out the door, donw the entrance steps and into the parking lot. I stood behind a couple who were chatting with friends who had already eaten their fill. Children played at movie making in an area behind the rectory garage: “Take two!,” one shouted at the others, and a young girl posed, looking like she was preparing to sing.
I looked at the sweatshirt of the man in front of me. It was green and emblazoned with an unfamiliar crest: A beaver, old books, and a scrolled banner that read:Rerum cognoscere causas. I studied it and pulled on five years of Latin to translate.I came close: To know the causes of things. As a way of starting conversation, I asked the gentleman where the sweatshirt came from. “The London School of Economics,” he replied. “Our daughter goes there, but don’t ask me what the Latin means.”
“Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea,” I said, and shared my rusty translation. While his wife and I chatted, he called his daughter on his iPhone.
“You were close,” he said. “She said it means “To Understand the Causes of Things.”
The conversation continued. I learned their daughter was finishing her graduate year inin London, that Latin was not a favorite high school subject for him, and that they had moved into the neighborhood not too long ago. We carried our plates piled with delicious fried perch to a round table and joined two couples who were just finishing up. The two husbands had attended a car show, and their wives, happily, had not. We shared pleasant table talk, and I decided that if my work schedule permitted, I would return again before Easter.
On the walk home, I pondered the motto of the London School of Economics. Sometimes we can understand the causes of things. Science helps in that regard concerning physical phenomena. Yeast makes dough rise when I make bread; the spinning of the earth, its tilt and orbit contribute to our experience of light and darkness, changing seasons, and constellations marching across the sky.
The mild winter and untimely blooming of honeysuckle are another thing altogether. Some propose climate warming. Others argue continuation of natural cycles.
But what of other things? How does one understand the causes of violence in the world, or poetic genius, or longings of the heart? What about a God who enters into the very life she created? Or a God that suffers?
What about the sudden rupture of old heart wounds, or the inability to let go things that are harmful to our souls?
There are age old puzzles of doing what we don’t want to do and of evil, of what comes after death. There are immediate ones like why why I can never buy the right amount of groceries for one or why faith once fecund is dry as old bones.
I unlocked the side door and entered my kitchen, hung up my keys, and took a deep breath. Theology is sometimes referred to as “faith seeking understanding.” I guess it is the seeking that counts.
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