Our great desire to be known and loved

Wilted Rose

By Hannah Steiner

Flamboyant foliage, boisterous bouquets

Twirling and catching

Admirers’ gaze 

Fresh rose aroma, and their vibrant hues!

Elicit oooo-ahhhs

Attention and schmooze

Like china that flaunts or a silver tray

Beheld from afar

Too special for play

Blemishes, bruises, cantankerous quirks

Flaws, foibles, failures

Are lost in fronts’ perks 

I tire of praise. I tire of pose

I want to be seen 

As the wilted rose 

The empty arena, devoid of the crowd

Intimate; divulged

Its quiet so loud 

The shirt used to paint or the socks with holes

A kid’s favorite toy

Loved-muddled-bulldozed

I don’t want admirers, accolades, a throne

Just to be real, me

Please: just to be known.

To be known and loved

The deepest desire of the human heart is to be known and loved. This necessitates knowing and loving the other, primarily God. Conveniently, the very first section of the Catechism is titled “The life of man — to know and love God.” Its opening paragraph states, “God draws close to man. He calls man to seek him, to know him, and to love him with all his strength.” All of Catholicism builds from this foundational truth. 

I wrote the poem above as a response to a growing realization that aspirations of success and admiration are subordinate to a deeper call: one of knowingness and love. Had I opened the Catechism, this would have been made evident straightaway. Instead, God first took me through the writings of St. Thérèse of Lisieux and St. Augustine to arrive at the same conclusion. Their writings and insights greatly inspired the poem.

The love and humility of a child

St. Thérèse of Lisieux sought a familiarity with Christ over the need to appear blameless and holy and receive the admiration of others. She likened herself to a simple toy in the hands of the Child Jesus rather than one that was ornate and too expensive to be played with. The simple toy was one to be loved, muddled, and bulldozed, and the ornate toy was merely beheld from afar. In her autobiography, “Story of a Soul,” Thérèse wrote:

“For some time now, I had been offering myself to the Child Jesus as His little plaything, telling Him not to treat me as the sort of expensive toy that children only look at, without daring to touch. I wanted Him to treat me like a little ball, so valueless that it can be thrown on the ground, kicked about, pierced and left lying in a corner, or pressed close to His heart if He wants. In other words, I wished only to amuse the Child Jesus and let Him do with me exactly as He liked.”

Thérèse’s whole life was ordered toward a humility that produced knowingness and love. She did not seek extravagant jobs in the convent; instead, she performed menial tasks with strict obedience. She desired not to be the most beautiful flower in Christ’s garden, but rather the simplest “little flower” that enhanced the beauty of the spotlight flowers. She said the way to Christ was one of surrender, akin to a child sleeping in his father’s arms. None of her actions sought admiration or success. Just a knowing of Christ. Just love. 

Seeking perfect contrition

After an early life of garnering attention and wooing women, St. Augustine was tired of praise and posing for the world. He was determined to attain a deeper self-knowledge, lamenting that men sought to conquer the world but did not explore the mystery within. The only way to self-knowledge, he reasoned, was through knowledge of God. In “Confessions,” Augustine wrote of God, “interior intimo meo et superior summon meo,” meaning, “you were more inward than my most inward part and higher than the highest element within me.” He further elaborated, “No one knows what he himself is made of, except his own spirit within him, yet there is still some part of him which remains hidden even from his own spirit; but you, Lord know everything about a human being because you have made him.” 

Augustine also distinguished between imperfect and perfect contrition. Imperfect contrition was a feeling of shame regarding a particular sin. It was better, certainly, than a lack of remorse, though it was inferior to perfect contrition: a sorrow for a sin because it ruptured our relationship with God. The greatest evil of sin was not stained perfection but rather a threat to one’s knowledge and love of God. This mirrors the story of the prodigal son: The eldest son was more concerned about his record of rule-following, whereas the younger son was more concerned about his relationship with his father and practiced perfect contrition.

To be known and loved is the deepest desire of any human being, and this cannot be acquired independent of knowledge and love of God. The saints knew this. By pondering this foundational reality of our faith, we, too, can be like them — being known and loved by God, and knowing and loving him in return for all eternity.

Hannah currently works in Denver as a data analyst and adjunct economics professor. She enjoys being active — hockey, hiking, and racquetball are some favorites — and spending time with family and friends.