True Love

I've just been watching an excellent movie. "Our Mutual Friend" is a BBC mini-series adaptation of Charles Dickens' novel of the same name. As is common with BBC productions (think back on Pride and Prejudice...), this has been excellent. And, as is common with any Dickens story, the plot is long and twisted, so to try to explain it in a (relatively) short post will be nigh impossible.

One of the many threads focuses upon two young people: John, an apparently destitute secretary, and Bella, the proud, mercenary young lady that he loves. Early in their relationship he proposes, and she turns him down flat. He does not press his suit, but still remains attentive to her, showing her his friendship and trustworthiness. They become friends; some of her airs disappear. Through a series of events, some unrelated to him directly, she begins to see his true worth as an honorable man, and becomes disillusioned regarding the appeal of wealth. The real test comes when John's employer - Bella's guardian - becomes aware of the previously refused proposal. He sacks John, accusing him of gold-digging; John insists that there was no ulterior motive, save his growing love for Bella. Bella, having truly altered her attitudes towards wealth and happiness, defends John, and promptly quits her guardian's house, returning to her own impoverished family. When he learns of her brave choice, John proposes again, and is this time accepted by a wiser Bella.

This may seem candy-coated to some, but when I was watching this movie, an interesting thought struck me. There is no "chemistry" between these two. How could that be? All the modern books and movies tell us - persistently - that love starts with an attraction. Generally, a physical attraction. And yet, I am utterly convinced that they are truly in love. It wasn't the secretive glances, or the passionate kisses - there was no kissing until the wedding. It was what they did for each other.

John never crossed the bounds of decency. He kept a polite distance, and rarely engaged her in conversation unless she initiated it. He was respectful, and gentle to her when she first refused him. He did not hold a grudge, or take an attitude of "I'll show her." Nor, did he ever bring up the subject to her, unless she brooked the topic. He was a friend to her, but did not force his friendship upon her. He honored Bella's request to not inform her guardian of his refused offer, because he knew it would embarrass her. When turned from the house, he did not demand that she make a choice between her guardian and prospective fortune, and him; despite the fact that he could see her deepening regard.

Bella, when she began to appreciate his friendship, started to see the trappings of fortune with different eyes. She regretted her attitudes toward him, and apologized. She grew to trust him and respect him for who he was, not what he was. The good sides of her nature, which had been hitherto stifled, blossomed: generosity, friendship, sensitivity. Her ultimate sacrifice came after John's dismissal. She did not leave to follow him; she left because she saw how money had tainted the guardian she had so loved, causing him to suspect everyone close to him of greediness. Because of this attitude, he had wrongly accused John of mercenary intentions towards Bella, and she would not stand for it.

It is my firm opinion that the classic writers - Dickens, Austen, Bronte - understood what love really is. It may begin by a superficial attraction, but it can only last if both parties are willing to work for the good of the other. Lizzie and Darcy eventually sacrificed their opinions; Jane and Mr. Rochester found true happiness after they had both given up something that was precious; David Copperfield won Agnes once he had matured and she had endured years of waiting. The attraction was the first step in a love based on something solid, something that would last much longer than that first "spark."

"Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends." (John 15:13) Christ's words can be taken many ways, whether to mean literal self-sacrifice (as He performed Himself), or a laying down of one's own "life" - interests, pride, faults, desires - for the sake of another. I have come to the conclusion that true love, in part, is the lover's willingness to set himself aside for the sake of the beloved. This operates in two ways: first, the lover lets go of his vices and unnecessary caprices so as to please the beloved. Secondly, he helps his beloved to do the same - in tenderness and kindness and patience. The benefits are obvious: both people end up smoothing out each other's rough edges, making them better people in general: "As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend." (Proverbs 27:17)

Which brings me to the ultimate question: If Christ is our Bridegroom, shall we not do the same for Him as we are doing for our earthly loves? Shall we not aim at perfection, so as to make us as desirable to Him as possible? Of course we cannot do so on our own, which is why we must rely on His ever-ready aid: "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her; that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish." (Ephesians 5:25-27)

And so, I pose two questions:
1) Are you loving your beloved?
2) Are you loving your Beloved?

Rather though-provoking, aren't they?

~Chelsea