{"id":2648,"date":"2020-12-30T18:19:09","date_gmt":"2020-12-30T18:19:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/farefwd.com\/?p=2648"},"modified":"2021-03-31T15:08:40","modified_gmt":"2021-03-31T15:08:40","slug":"the-loving-ones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/2020\/12\/30\/the-loving-ones\/","title":{"rendered":"The Loving Ones"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t

The Loving Ones<\/h2>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

A poet reads Auden and reflects on love, joy, and suffering in an anxious age.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

By Whitney Rio-Ross
<\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

At the age of twenty-five, I was in the midst of a years-long physical and mental health decline. My life was more questions than answers, colored by fear and increasing pain. So I did what any young woman facing her body\u2019s limitations and mortality would do. I got married.<\/p>

It wasn\u2019t a hasty decision to land a husband\u2019s health insurance, though that was a perk. My husband and I had dated for over a year and been engaged for several months\u2019 emergency room visits, prescriptions, and ever-changing diagnoses. Of course I wanted to be healthy at the outset of my marriage, but there was no assurance that I would get better, whatever that even meant. We couldn\u2019t wait for my body to heal if we wanted to get married in this lifetime.<\/p>

Few people at the wedding knew anything was wrong with me. Those who did, aside from my mother, only heard parts of the story. I craved joy, not pity. We wanted to enter a covenant, not Lifetime melodramas scripted by distant relatives. So we made our vows and communed with our friends. We danced for hours, knowing full well that I would collapse at home and spend the next day in bed.<\/p>

W. H. Auden greeted our wedding guests. The chances of us looking back through a book of wedding attendees\u2019 signatures hovered just above zero, so we used his collected works as our guest book. We could count on returning to the poems. Auden first wooed me with his long poem For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio<\/em>. The poem had been on my mind in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and not only because we married during Advent. In this Christmas poem, and throughout his work, Auden understood the issue of timing.<\/p>

_____<\/p><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

Christians should ultimately look toward resurrection and therefore see beauty and grace despite their losses, but mourners also see a truth: death ruins.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

My wedding was the most joyful day of my life, slipped into a season of brutal pain and grief. The lavender tossed when we left the wedding hall perfumed the car for weeks. On good days, the scent felt like memory\u2019s kiss. But when my head throbbed past the point of reason, it was a taunt. The day had been a kind intermission, not a turning point. Time moved mercilessly forward with yesterday\u2019s struggles, and for a while, things only got worse.<\/p>

Auden\u2019s famous \u201cFuneral Blues\u201d begins,<\/p>

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. (l. 1-4)<\/p>

Everyone has or will feel these lines, be it at someone\u2019s death or another personal tragedy. Our world stops and shatters while the rest of it goes on, ignorant of our breathless grief. The everyday grows callous and loud, and though we should not blame strangers for their glares or smiles, we do. In \u201cMusee des Beaux Arts,\u201d an ekphrasis of Breughel’s Landscape with the Fall of Icarus<\/em>, Auden notes that suffering \u201ctakes place \/ While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along\u201d (ll. 3-4). \u00a0Our individual worlds end, but the planet won\u2019t pause on our suffering\u2019s account. Moreover, it will continue turning in directions directly opposite ours. A man signs divorce papers the day his friend celebrates an anniversary. A woman has a baby one day, and the next evening her sister loses one.<\/p>

For the suffering, these endings, small and unnoticed as they are in the crowd, are not a subplot but everything. The lover in \u201cFuneral Blues\u201d calls the departed \u201cmy North, my South, my East, my West \/ My working week and my Sunday rest\u201d (ll. 9-10) and continues,<\/p>

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;<\/p>

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;<\/p>

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;<\/p>

For nothing now can ever come to any good. (ll. 13-16)<\/p>

We could call this response idolatry. No person should be another\u2019s everything, and the universe still contains great goodness once that person is gone. I do not, however, suggest saying this to those in grief. Christians should ultimately look toward resurrection and therefore see beauty and grace despite their losses, but mourners also see a truth: death ruins. We can acknowledge that death is not earth\u2019s or the self\u2019s end, but we are betraying the gospel to pretend it isn\u2019t the enemy. Defeated or not, death destroys. And so it feels offensive when the sky spins on as if death were a mere accident. This theme opens Auden\u2019s \u201cThe More Loving One\u201d: \u201cLooking up at the stars, I know quite well \/ That for all they care, I can go to hell\u201d (ll.1-2). I don\u2019t believe we should go on hating the world when we suffer great loss. But I believe we\u2019re allowed some rage at its apparent indifference.<\/p>

Healthy people love using vaguely heroic language when talking about the sick. On a literal level, it is darkly amusing to hear someone call me \u201cstrong,\u201d given my inability to lift a plate with one hand. My husband believes that people use words like strong<\/em> and brave<\/em> when the sick have not \u201cgiven up.\u201d He says that I have continued living and loving. However, I was not particularly loving during the worst years. I tried to keep up with friends and be kind to my family, but my success rate wasn\u2019t impressive. I think that, mostly, healthy people are relieved and sometimes impressed when the sick don\u2019t insist that the world is worthless due to their personal misery.<\/p>

I don\u2019t imagine that I will be a graceful mourner when I lose certain people. I know my grief will consume me if my husband dies before I do. I doubt my theology will be at its best and assume that I will dabble in utter despair more than I should. I might tell God to go to hell, but the last time I did that, God asked if I\u2019d read the whole book. When it comes to being sick, though, I allow the world more indifference. There are levels of physical exhaustion and pain that obliterate the outside world. You can go past the despair of saying there is nothing good on this earth. In those moments, there is only nothing. But when you are outside of those moments, knowing that another might be waiting for you, there\u2019s a choice. You can resent poorly timed sunshine, or you can love someone who bathes in it.<\/p>

_____<\/p><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

We\u2019re ever in the garden, mistaking rotten, false control for sustenance.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

For the Time Being <\/em>is a surprisingly political poem, which sets it apart (and in my view, above) most Christmas poetry. Most Christmas art limits its scope to the manger scene, perhaps splicing scenes to include the wise men. These works are important and can be artistically impressive. However, we must also confront the earthly and political context of Christ\u2019s birth.<\/p>

The world before Jesus\u2019s arrival strongly resembled our own. People worshipped their chosen gods or none. They attended weddings and funerals. They cooked dinner and waged war. They paid taxes. In the Advent section, Auden\u2019s narrator explains that people\u2019s lives went<\/p>

From sword to ploughshare, coffin to cradle, war to work,<\/p>

So that, taking the bad with the good, the pattern composed<\/p>

By the ten thousand odd things that can possibly happen<\/p>

Is permanent in a general average way. (351)<\/p>

Such apparent irreverence toward suffering is disturbing. Saying that war is not extraordinary but simply what one can expect appears to ignore its devastation at large and shrugs off the thousands or millions whose worlds are destroyed. Yet the narrator is correct in this long view. Whether or not we care to admit it, we grow used to such things. We weep at mass shootings and natural disasters. We might try to help the victims through donations, protests, and legislation. Unlike Auden\u2019s characters, we can even watch the world fall apart through YouTube and know of tragedies in towns with names we struggle to pronounce.<\/p>

Sadly, the narrator claims that the people have accepted this cycle, war and all. These words come before he explains their true fear. They aren\u2019t terrified by the pattern they live but the seconds of silence when they see it all from a distance, when they must face evil\u2019s abyss and their need for a miracle, \u201cfor no nightmare \/ Of hostile objects could be as terrible as this void\u201d (352). When they are momentarily removed from their immediate, accepted pattern, it appears unbearable. It therefore makes sense that an unexpected disruption could trouble those not facing the void. Auden understands that even the greatest miracle can be unwelcome when the cycle feels safe. Yes, the routine brings grief, but as devastating as grief may be in the moment, it\u2019s what they can expect. We\u2019ve all thought this way; we shield ourselves with understanding and take comfort in what we have come to know, even if we loathe it. We\u2019re ever in the garden, mistaking rotten, false control for sustenance.<\/p>

To be fair, those who were unhappy with Christ\u2019s disruption had a point. Although we\u2019d rather dwell on angels and sheep, Jesus didn\u2019t bring much immediate joy to the world; his existence ushered in a killing spree. While Jesus escaped his first murder sentence, the rest of Bethlehem paid for his birth. The heavenly host\u2019s song led to screams from the parents who watched their sons slaughtered. Behold the fruits of interruption.<\/p>

Auden\u2019s Herod is not thirsting for this blood. At the beginning of his speech, he\u2019s a hilarious character, applauding himself for meager accomplishments and pouting over petty inconveniences. He\u2019s a real politician. This attitude naturally leads him to infanticide. He isn\u2019t trying to wage war but avoid one. Though he tells himself that this child is nothing special, he knows that if his people believe that God really has been born on earth, chaos will ensue. Herod must remove this disruption before it gets out of hand, and though he claims, \u201cI don\u2019t want to be horrid\u201d (194), by his calculations, these children of Bethlehem are a reasonable price for peace.<\/p>

Lately, I\u2019ve heard death marching behind every miracle, and the church calendar has only made it louder. This pattern that I have moved and prayed through for years has proven untimely. This year\u2019s Lent felt appropriate as we watched a pandemic ravage the world, but surely things would be better in April. Yet Easter dawned on mass burials. Then Pentecost came in as wails of grief and cries for justice while the blood of Black bodies paved the way to an all-too-ordinary time\u2014a time when our abused creation blazed to ash. Perhaps we should have kept death on our foreheads the whole year. Celebrating resurrection and preaching joy feels nearly blasphemous. When I hear a baby cry this winter, I don\u2019t know if it\u2019s Jesus or one who took his place.<\/p><\/div>

_____<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

It is a strange mercy to marry in sickness, grief, or poverty, though I would never wish it on anyone.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

In our second year of marriage, a new neurological medication soothed my temporal lobe enough for me to inch out of the dark fog that had plagued me for years. Parts of my mind and personality that I\u2019d counted lost finally returned. Later, we learned more about my immune system\u2019s flaws and that, while symptoms could be partially managed, the condition was chronic and the damage done. It wasn\u2019t good news, but treatment allowed my body to improve to a limited extent.<\/p>

The truth is that despite the pain and the grief my illness still brings at times, the last two years have been held together by moments of ecstatic love. I want all the clocks started again. I want every star. In \u201cIn Sickness and In Health,\u201d Auden writes:<\/p>

Let no one say I love until aware<\/p>

What huge resources it will take to nurse<\/p>

One ruining speck, one tiny hair<\/p>

That casts a shadow through the universe (ll.25-28)<\/p>

It is a strange mercy to marry in sickness, grief, or poverty, though I would never wish it on anyone. We didn\u2019t get to enjoy the young, wild, and free years my younger self had assumed were guaranteed. And watching someone you love lose themselves, whether physically or mentally, can break you. But entering in sickness with no assurance of future health made any degree of wellness a startling grace. The timing let us eventually wake anew to love\u2019s dazzling mystery and ask, \u201cWho showed the whirlwind how to be an arm, \/ And gardened from the wilderness of space \/ The sensual properties of one dear face?\u201d (ll. 70-72).<\/p>

Yet even after years of personal suffering, I can only say I am blissful in my marriage as a confession: forgive me, world, for I have joy. When my personal world revived, others\u2019 were spiraling in the other direction with loneliness and divorce. Because of this, I no longer talk about my marriage much when people ask how I am, except in passing comments that \u201cthings are good\u201d so no one suspects dissatisfaction. I offer facts in a generally pleasant tone.<\/p>

That was before 2020\u2019s mounting catastrophes. As with everyone, this year has hurt us. We miss friends and family and have worried for our many loved ones who contracted the virus and other diseases. We\u2019re always calculating the risks associated with work and small errands because things could go very poorly if I get COVID-19. On Christmas, we watched news clips of a bomb destroying blocks of our own city. However, a lot of my life has stayed the same\u2014no driving, mostly working at home, always trying not to catch a virus. I also kept my part-time job, don\u2019t live near any forests for people to set on fire, and have never faced racial oppression. Comparatively speaking, I am doing okay. And so when I am struck by the sheer delight of laughing, dancing, or falling asleep with the one I have and hold, guilt soon follows. I want to apologize for love and assure my imaginary accusers that I\u2019m still in enough pain to excuse my happiness in an apocalypse.<\/p>

_____<\/p><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

God is the constant interruption, often unwanted and rarely on our time, but always needed.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

In his long war-time poem The Age of Anxiety, <\/em>Auden follows four lonely characters facing the possible end of the world. None are in immediate danger, but none feel totally removed from World War II. In fact, Malin is a medical officer on leave, Emble is in the navy, and Rosetta is a Jew living in America. The four begin as strangers at a bar, each caught up in their own miseries and unfulfilled hopes. They think of others who are in or have moved out of their lives, and none are settled in a happy marriage or steady friendship. They remain silent until the radio shares war updates and concludes by asking listeners to buy bonds. Finally, they must bear their common anxiety together. They cannot share their personal afflictions, but the war is their common tongue. It is also too much for any of them to bear on their own.<\/p>

Half of the poem consists of a collective dream journey they take, which they realize at the end was an unsuccessful attempt to escape the real world and all of its anxieties. When they wake up again at the bar, they take the party to Rosetta\u2019s home, where she and Emble have a drunken, spontaneous wedding ceremony. It\u2019s a ridiculous scene that the two will be embarrassed by in daylight, but Auden explains, \u201cIn times of war, even the crudest kind of positive affection between persons seems extraordinarily beautiful, a noble symbol of the peace and forgiveness of which the whole world stands so desperately in need\u201d (516). He\u2019s right. It\u2019s why we send each other viral videos of toddlers hugging. We crave reassurance that love can and will be.<\/p>

Of course, we can resist this craving. Resistors sit quietly on their barstools, too consumed with their own worlds to cry for the one everyone else grieves. The possibility of new friends could invite more anxieties, so they settle for a loneliness that resembles peace in low lighting.<\/p>

The end of the world only matters if you love it or those in it. As she sobers, Rosetta calls her sleeping short-term lover \u201cMy doom, my darling\u201d (518). This is my favorite definition of a lover. Or a friend. Or a child. We give anyone we love the permission to doom us. They may betray us, madden us, die on us. Weddings are promises to sing our beloved\u2019s funeral blues.<\/p>

Even giving birth guarantees suffering, because despite our efforts to keep a child safe and supply them with only perfect love, this is a broken, breaking world. Mary sees this in For the Time Being. <\/em>Auden speeds past the manger scene but allows her a private moment with her newborn son:<\/p>

Escape from my care: what can you discover<\/p>

From my tender look but how to be afraid?<\/p>

Love can but confirm the more it would deny.<\/p>

\u2026\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>

In your first few hours of life here, O have you<\/p>

Chosen already what death must be your own?<\/p>

How soon will you start on the Sorrowful Way? (380)<\/p>

This is a mother\u2019s confession; she cannot save her son from the Sorrowful Way he must one day take. She is also mourning his inevitable suffering and her own. Though her baby escapes the death awaiting his neighbors, it is only temporary. She has given birth to the world\u2019s salvation and her own devastation.<\/p>

I have a hard time imagining a way of escaping all human love, but let\u2019s say it\u2019s possible. Let\u2019s imagine that a person could isolate themselves in a way that would make them impervious to the grief caused by caring about others. This is, of course, a hell of one\u2019s own making. It also, unfortunately, won\u2019t work in the end. At the end of The Age of Anxiety<\/em>, Malin recognizes that we can never escape the one who can grieve and love us most:<\/p>

In our anguish we struggle<\/p>

To elude Him, to lie to Him, yet His love observes<\/p>

His appalling promise; His predilection<\/p>

As we wander and weep is with us to the end. (532-33)<\/p>

There is no escaping grief, because despite even our best efforts, there is no escaping the loving one. God is the constant interruption, often unwanted and rarely on our time, but always needed.<\/p>

In his poem \u201cThe More Loving One,\u201d Auden writes, \u201cIf equal affection cannot be, \/ Let the more loving one be me\u201d (ll. 7-8). As a gay Christian in the twentieth century, Auden knew something about longing, unequal affection, and the inevitable suffering in and for love. These lines are the Christ-like response to indifferent stars, a world at war, and impending heartbreak.<\/p><\/div>

_____<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

I hope most will bring me joy but am certain that all will cause me pain.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

So I will love my husband without apology in apocalypses, small and grand. I will love him while dancing and sniffing the lavender at a friend\u2019s wedding. With his and God\u2019s help, I will better love my friends, family, and the earth we have been given in this anxious age. I hope most will bring me joy but am certain that all will cause me pain. My dooms, my darlings.<\/p>

The two of us will weep and pray for this world while trusting in its transformation. And I will recite the final chorus in For the Time Being<\/em>, next to a friend\u2019s wishes that we be granted joy from the Lover of our souls:<\/p>

He is the Way.
Follow Him through the Land of Unlikeness;
You will see rare beasts, and have unique adventures.<\/p>

He is the Truth.
Seek Him in the Kingdom of Anxiety;
You will come to a great city that has expected your return for years.<\/p>

He is the Life.
Love Him in the World of the Flesh;
And at your marriage all its occasions shall dance for joy.<\/p><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

Whitney Rio-Ross<\/strong> holds a Master\u2019s in Religion and Literature from Yale Divinity School. Her writing has appeared in <\/em>Sojourners, <\/em>Reflections, <\/em>America Magazine, L<\/em>ETTERS Journal, <\/em>The Cresset, <\/em>St. Katherine Review, <\/em>The Other Journal, and elsewhere. She is the author of the poetry chapbook <\/em>Birthmarks and teaches at Trevecca University in Nashville, Tennessee, where she lives with her husband.<\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A poet reads Auden and reflects on love, joy, and suffering in an anxious age.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":2653,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"elementor_header_footer","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ocean_post_layout":"","ocean_both_sidebars_style":"","ocean_both_sidebars_content_width":0,"ocean_both_sidebars_sidebars_width":0,"ocean_sidebar":"0","ocean_second_sidebar":"0","ocean_disable_margins":"enable","ocean_add_body_class":"","ocean_shortcode_before_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_after_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_before_header":"","ocean_shortcode_after_header":"","ocean_has_shortcode":"","ocean_shortcode_after_title":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_bottom":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_bottom":"","ocean_display_top_bar":"default","ocean_display_header":"default","ocean_header_style":"","ocean_center_header_left_menu":"0","ocean_custom_header_template":"0","ocean_custom_logo":0,"ocean_custom_retina_logo":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_height":0,"ocean_header_custom_menu":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_family":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_subset":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_size":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_unit":"px","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_line_height":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_unit":"","ocean_menu_typo_spacing":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_unit":"","ocean_menu_link_color":"","ocean_menu_link_color_hover":"","ocean_menu_link_color_active":"","ocean_menu_link_background":"","ocean_menu_link_hover_background":"","ocean_menu_link_active_background":"","ocean_menu_social_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_links_color":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_color":"","ocean_disable_title":"default","ocean_disable_heading":"default","ocean_post_title":"","ocean_post_subheading":"","ocean_post_title_style":"","ocean_post_title_background_color":"","ocean_post_title_background":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_image_position":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_attachment":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_repeat":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_size":"","ocean_post_title_height":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay":0.5,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay_color":"","ocean_disable_breadcrumbs":"default","ocean_breadcrumbs_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_separator_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_hover_color":"","ocean_display_footer_widgets":"default","ocean_display_footer_bottom":"default","ocean_custom_footer_template":"0","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"ocean_post_oembed":"","ocean_post_self_hosted_media":"","ocean_post_video_embed":"","ocean_link_format":"","ocean_link_format_target":"self","ocean_quote_format":"","ocean_quote_format_link":"post","ocean_gallery_link_images":"off","ocean_gallery_id":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[48,10,58],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2648","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-archives","category-essays","category-issue-10","entry","has-media"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/farefwd.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/12\/After_Federico_Barocci_Urbino_c._1535-Urbino_1612_-_The_Nativity_-_RCIN_404143_-_Royal_Collection.jpg?fit=1322%2C1650&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2648","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2648"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2648\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2657,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2648\/revisions\/2657"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2653"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2648"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2648"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2648"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}