The Joy of Being Wrong
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December 10, 2017“A voice of one crying out in the desert: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.’”(Mk 1:3)
Compunction is a common word in the desert tradition, often connected with penthos (mourning) and tears over one’s sins. The word literally means a piercing of the heart. This is John’s job for the people of his time and ours.
The people feel drawn to John and come to be baptized by him, confessing their sins. Something about this man’s absolute focus on what matters most draws them, and in spite of his fearsome appearance and tough words, they feel safe in his presence to speak of their wrongdoing, to let it all out.
Compunction, however, is about more than sins. The monastic father, John Cassian’s description of compunction reveals it to be closely connected to hope in the coming of God’s kingdom. The experience of true sorrow for sin is at the same moment a taste of God’s merciful presence and closeness, of his tender love. There is joy in being wrong:
“Even I for my part, for all my insignificance, am not unaware of the feeling of compunction. For frequently, when tears well up at the memory of my past offenses, I am so shaken by an unspeakable joy at the Lord’s visitation . . . that the greatness of this happiness dictates that I should not despair of their being pardoned” (Conf 9.28.1).
Compunction is aroused not only from consciousness of sin, but also from an experience of eternal beauty:
“It arises in another way from the contemplation of eternal goods and the desire for that future glory, for the sake of which, too, abundant fountains of tears erupt out of irrepressible joy and overwhelming happiness. All the while our soul is thirsting for the strong and living God, saying: ‘When shall I come and appear before the face of God? My tears have been my bread by day and by night.’” (Conf 9.29.2)
Such a piercing of the heart can arise from many an ordinary daily encounter with something beautiful or sad – a piece of music, a conversation, a blooming tree, a failed relationship, or devastating news. Our Advent traditions provide conditions to be moved in this way through the Scriptures and the liturgy. The Prophets Isaiah holds pride of place during these days with his laying bare of the sinfulness of his people through the image of a wounded body:
“From the sole of the foot even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but bruises and sores and bleeding wounds; they have not been drained, or bound up, or softened with oil.” (Is 1:6)
But he also has words of comfort and consolation for those long-suffering ones:
“Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
double for all her sins.” (Is 40:1-2)
John the Baptist is given the words of Isaiah and the mission “to make ready a people prepared for the Lord” (Lk 1:17). Like Isaiah, he speaks difficult truths, and his uncompromising authenticity brings forth tears of sorrow for all that has been “ill-done and done to others’ harm” (T.S. Eliot) in our lives and in the events of our world. It feels good to cry.
The sight of new life held and growing in Mary’s womb pierces us too, though in a different way. Amidst all greed, destructiveness and failure of love in our lives and our times, here is another chance, a spark of something new. Is there nothing new under the sun? Yes, this is new. God is drawing near, closer than ever before. He has become tiny, microscopic, a seed sprouting and growing in the earth of our humanity. He is fragile, vulnerable and could in so many ways be lost. We could break him, and yet he puts himself into our hands. Overcome by this unmerited gift, we weep, and are made new.
