Devotion 354 - Naiveté

She took a long deep drink,  the steam just barely rising from the paper cup.  She smiled,  hot cocoa, it is her love language. She put the cup down safely on the bench where we were watching football.  She looked at me long.  I was sure another sweet thank you was headed my way.  

Instead she asked,  “Why is it I love cocoa so much?” 

I pondered before answering, it’s because she loves all things with the main ingredient sugar, I responded,  “Because it is sweet, like you.”

She shook her head making it clear I was in error.  “No” she resolutely answered, “It is the way Jesus made me.”

I love that faith, and at the beautiful age of five it is fierce. I pray daily that fierceness will wage the war of fear one day. 

We had sat at dinner just the night before.  An unexpected treat as all four of our children were at the table.  Our college student was home for the evening and we sat in the abundance of that grace.

All the while we received texts from friends and loved ones who had children or acquaintances in Paris.  All safe, all accounted for and our tears welled.  We had made the decision not to discuss the situation with the littlest of our children. 

My children hold Paris as dear to them as we hold it to each other.  It was there where we began, our love and our family. There is something about protecting them that goes much deeper than their physical beings; it is protecting a faith that is just forming in the goodness of God. 

French Philosopher Paul Ricoeur talks about this naiveté as the “first naiveté.” It is the faith that begins when we first accept Jesus as our Savior, the sheer power of His sacrifice takes us to a place of favor and faith that seems irrevocable until something reaches and retracts it.  It can be a college professor, a deep grief, or a tragedy that cannot be navigated through naiveté. 

That is when Ricoeur says we reach the “critical distance.”  For me, this distance occurred on the streets of Paris thirty years ago; it is one of many reasons I hold that city so very dear.

It was a Friday.  With everything in me I wish I had recorded the date.  I had finished classes early and I was desperate to hear or see or read something that was simply not in French.  I went to one of the touristy streets I knew and chose a book shop. 

I roamed the books then magazines.  I was puzzled.  For the first time in my academic career I was well outside my comfort zone.  I was challenged academically but much more grievous, I was challenged spiritually.  It appeared that many were having the time of their lives, outside the scope of how I believed and certainly how I was raised.  My critical distance was getting wider.  I paused daily as to why I believed how I believed and if I truly knew the truth I had held so dear.

The depth of the thoughts frightened.  I quickly moved from books to magazines hoping for a mental if not a spiritual rest.  I read a story of a celebrity facing cancer.  Without realizing it at first, I was reading her testimony of faith.  Facing the greatest fear she had ever knew, she chose faith. 

Her words so simple and so elegant, she called on a phrase penned by a saint centuries before, “The same God that cares for you today will care for you tomorrow and every day.  EITHER He will shield you from suffering or give you everlasting strength to bear it.”

I retrieved my backpack off my shoulder and recorded those words.

It was not God that had changed, it was me.
Somewhere in the distance, I had chosen to question.  I was changing.  I was growing.  I was asking.  But He miraculously had never changed.

I was moving into what Ricoeur calls our “second naiveté.”

It is the realization that faith is not understanding, faith is believing.

It is holding fast to truth in spite of the lies that surround.

It is understanding we cannot predict tomorrow, but we can be assured of the final tomorrow.

It is claiming His goodness even if we cannot understand its place amongst evil, yet knowing it IS unmistakably present.

It is seeking Him not in places or people but in our hearts and beginning to rely on a friendship that is stronger than any bond we can ever know.

It is allowing Him to guide and direct instead of pushing ahead and falling behind.

It is opening our hearts to surrender and the laying down of control.

It is opening our mind to love that is limitless, the depth of which we will not understand until Glory.

And, it is remembering He makes us in His image and therefore the mistakes and faults, wrinkles and wonder, allow a greater reflection of Him, not a correction of His creativity.  He fills in the gaps we mourn to show Himself more.

It was that moment that would prepare me thirty years later to tell my baby daughter that yes; Jesus made you to love hot cocoa.  Love it my darling, because He loves you like crazy.

 Bless those who persecute you. Don’t curse them; pray that God will bless them. Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep.  Romans 12:  14-15

Remembering those who have lost so much this last Friday, November 13, in Paris. Remember Beloved, when you weep, we weep with you.  When you mourn, you do not mourn alone and when you see the sun rise, He gives us all another day to pray for you.  There is no distance the Holy Spirit cannot travel to bring you comfort.  We stand with you without fear.

Nous sommes Paris.