The Wisdom of Kazantzakis

I recently came across a quote from Nikos Kazantzakis's magnificent but controversial novel, The Last Temptation of Christ. The following dialogue takes place during a heated conversation between Jesus and John the Baptist, near the Jordan River at the outset of the former's public ministry. John advocates taking an ax to the current Jewish leadership and Israel's occupying Roman authorities. His cousin is unconvinced.

Jesus: "Isn't love enough?"
John: "No. The tree is rotten. God called to me and gave me the ax, which I then placed at the roots of the tree. I did my duty. Now do yours: take the ax and strike!
Jesus: "If I were fire, I would burn: if I were a woodcutter, I would strike. But I am a heart, and I love."

Wow! That sent me to Netflix to watch Martin Scorsese's 1988 film version again, after a lapse of many years. I don't recall noticing that Harvey Keitel's Judas delivered his lines with a heavy New York accent. Go figure! 

In the story, Jesus' last and greatest temptation as he hangs dying on the cross is one that I share--and I suppose many of you do, too. Before Jesus is able to cry out with full resignation, "It is finished!" he isn't presented with an option for power, wealth, fame and glory, or even uninhibited, eagerly shared, and mutually satisfying sex. His most powerful yearning was for "ordinariness." Kazantzakis creates for Jesus the illusion of a life lived in obscurity, without stress or anxiety. Jesus is happily married to the love of his life. He has fathered a houseful of perfect, smart, and respectful children. His career as a craftsman has supported their unpretentious lifestyle. After a full and peaceful life, he approaches death a happy man, who has tasted the sweetest nectar of human joy.

Coming to his senses, an aged Jesus recognizes that the life he longs for would betray his reason for existing. In anguish and regret for all that he is choosing to leave behind, he abandons his idyllic dream state and returns to the Self that still sags in death throes on the cross. He exhales his final breath, not as husband and father, but as the Victim lamb, faithful to his ministry of being life for the lifeless, hope for the hopeless.

I don't think I fully understood Kazantzakis's spiritual insight before watching The Last Temptation this time. It was as if the author had thrust a mirror into my hand. In it, I saw my own connection with that alluring call away from who I am meant to be. You see, I too long for a simple, peaceful existence, a happy life, with minimal conflict, no major physical or emotional suffering, just the life of a . . . lover, dad and worker, with nothing big to worry about, imagining  retirement someday (to write full time). And then to die, surrounded by my loved ones--with these final words on my lips: "I never did much of anything, but I die a happy man." 

Yes, my great--and last?--temptation is simply to do nothing much. But what a waste that would be!

Alfred J. Garrotto is the author of the novel 

The Saint of Florenville: A Love Story

saintoflorenville.com 

alfredjgarrotto.com

(c) 2013 by Alfred J. Garrotto

For Esther on Her Birthday

A reflection on the Scripture readings
of the Roman Catholic liturgy
  for Monday, 4th Week of Lent, 2010.

The Prophet Isaiah 65:17-21
"Be glad forever and rejoice in what I create."

The Gospel of John 4:43-54
"Jesus went back to Cana of Galilee."

Lord Christ, 

 God of new,

of joy and creation.

 I praise you today
for one of your best,

my wife
my friend
and
partner,

on her birthday.

 You have blessed me

by sending her

to share my journey

through the second half of life.
 Grant us health

and length of days.

Can it be coincidence 

that today John

invites us with you 

back to Cana,

where you blessed two lovers

with abundance
of mirth-enhancing wine?

Happenstance,

that on this Lenten day

Isaiah sings in praise 
of newness and creation, 

of joy and rejoicing?

I think not.

On my daughters' behalf,

I thank you

for such a model 

of wisdom and virtue!

And grant to me 

that elusive third sight,

to see among
the miracles of life and love

your presence
even here, even now.

Amen.

With My Own Eyes

Of the many books I read during the past year, the late Henri J. M. Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming has had the most enduring impact. The author described how he became interested in exploring the deeper meaning of the gospel parable of the loving father and ungrateful son (Luke 15:11-32). In the course of his reflection, he came across Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn's 17th century depiction of that graced moment when the wastrel son kneels at the feet of his father to beg reconciliation. This family circle also includes an elder, "faithful" son faced with the sudden reappearance of his despised sibling.

When Nouwen learned that the original painting was on display in St. Petersburg's Hermitage State Museum, he traveled to Russia. His desire was to study the masterpiece, meditate on it, crawl inside the main characters of the scene.

To accomplish his goal, Nouwen obtained special permission to pull up a chair and sit opposite the painting. This he did for hours, under the watchful eye of a grumpy room monitor, who was unused to having her tourists linger for more than a glance and a "Wow!" before moving on to view room after room of treasures collected by Catherine the Great (1729-1796) .

While meditating, Nouwen easily identified with the weak-willed prodigal. Next he turned in spirit to the older son and found himself again in the taken-for-granted good boy. Only when the author turned his gaze to the father did he understand the essential lesson of Jesus' parable. Yes, we are like the younger son . . . the older son, too. But, our call as human beings is to be like the father, whose love is so indelible that it eliminates any possibility that his ungrateful son will be welcomed home. This unconditional love is our model and our goal.

After reading The Return of the Prodigal Son, I added the Hermitage to my list of "must see" places in the world. Little did I know the opportunity would come so soon. Desperate for passengers, Princess Cruises offered a cut-rate trip to the Baltic Sea. Seeing a two-day visit to St. Petersburg on the itinerary pushed my wife and I to sign on.

On the morning of July 9, 2009, as we headed for the Hermitage, I approached our tour guide, Natasha. "Is there any possibility that I could see Rembrandt's 'Return of the Prodigal Son'?" I asked. "Of course," she said and kept her promise. We entered the Rembrandt exhibit and there I was, staring at the floor-to-ceiling painting with my own eyes. I stood close enough to touch this 350-year-old canvas, but I'd have suffered the scorn of that no-nonsense woman in the nearby chair. And who knows what else? Access to the painting was so free that I was able to take the above photograph, as long as I didn't use flash. Too soon, our tour moved on. I envied Nouwen and the time he had to absorb not only the painting's beauty but its essence.

According to the Rembrandt Prints website (http://www.rembrandtprints.org/biography.html), "Return of the Prodigal Son is considered one of the most moving paintings in religious art because of its profound insight and sympathy for human affliction. A boy weeps as he kneels at the feet of his father who forgives him and welcomes him home." I could not have said it better.

Later, in the museum shop, I purchased the 16" x 12" print on canvas that now hangs on the wall over my workspace. I reminds me of the kind of father I am called to be--and want to be.


[See also my post of July 2, 2009, below.]

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