The above book is one of two devoured during my eight-day hermitage at Treasure Island beach, such time mostly spent in a fifth-floor air-conditioned unit, the balcony my idea of enjoying sand and surf. Frederick Buechner entertained me with a fictional account of ancient Irish monks, even as the above author fed me spiritual food for thought; and, while the rest of the family baked and burned below, I vacationed at a higher level. The more serious volume, though, is where present thoughts are occupied. It was subtitled “The Search for a Christian Spirituality”, the definition of that final word, according to the author, said to be “what we do with our desires; what shapes our actions; how we channel our eros (the fire that burns within us)”. He approaches such issues from the standpoint of reaching people who are struggling with their faith and their church, the result, he says, of “the pluralism of an age which is rich in everything except clarity”; and his attempt to provide some understanding of who we are as believers holds, in my opinion at least, much to consider. In the end, though, his solution leaves one’s salvation with little more than a theology, a lifestyle to be embraced, the above quote illustrating such evaluation. The Creator is compared to a young boy lying in hospice, physically and mentally incapacitated, unable to communicate with anyone in any manner, and the reader is asked to imagine, from personal experience, an inability to emotionally connect with others. His main topic is thereby voided of its divinity, the Holy Ghost laid to rest in a corner somewhere, and “Christ in me” reduced to a force we, ourselves, determine simply by committing ourselves to the Gospel. Within the last chapter, he delivers another quote, “A pattern that others have made may prevail in the world and, following the wrong god home, we may both miss our star”. Amen, brother. Amen…..
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