More Than Entertained

DR. AMBER MOSELEY is a wife, mother and Senior Varsity Catholic Manager for FOCUS (the Fellowship of Catholic University Students). She and her family reside in Festus, Missouri.

“The one who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new’” (Rev 21:5). For anyone who has been ground down by the relentless rhythm of life at any point in time, Jesus’s words will ring out as Good News. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states, “At every time and every place, God draws close to man,” and Jesus can make anyone new at any moment. However, life seems to provide more conducive seasons for newness, and the new school year is such a season for many. How can we take advantage of this renewed willingness to be made new? Ironically, we can draw inspiration from what is old. Through the lens of two classic novels, we’ll examine a couple of ways in which Jesus may desire to inject a bit of newness into our lives, “so that [we] might have life and have it more abundantly” (Jn 10:10).

Renewing Wonder: Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery

“What was wonderful about childhood is that anything in it is a wonder.” - G. K. Chesterton

As a child, I remember exploring in the woods for hours with my cousins, playing in the creek and climbing trees. I would get lost in my imagination and in the beauty of it all. As I got older, it was easy to forget about that time of playfulness and freedom to just be a child. While reading the Anne of Green Gables book series, I was able to return to this state through Anne, the main character. 

The Anne of Green Gables series has been marketed to children and is great for that age group to read, but if you have not read the series, the best time to read them is now. There is something about reading from the perspective of a kid that will awaken the child in each of us, and Anne of Green Gables definitely will do this. Anne Shirley is unfiltered, courageous, mischievous, quirky, and—most notably—childlike.

Anne Shirley is the definition of wonder. Despite all of her misfortunes throughout her childhood (she is an orphan and jumps from family to family her first 11 years of life), she sees the world with amazement and curiosity. She never misses a moment to marvel at the world around her. As a reader, you cannot help but long to have her eyes. Here’s an excerpt from the book that shows how Anne sees the world:

“‘Oh isn’t it wonderful?’ she said, waving her hand comprehensively at the good world outside. ‘It’s a big tree,’ said Marilla, ‘and it blooms great, but the fruit don’t amount to much never small and wormy.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean just the tree; of course it’s lovely—yes, it’s radiantly lovely—it blooms as if it meant it—but I meant everything, the garden and the orchard and the brook and the woods, the whole big dear world, Don’t you feel as if you just loved the world on a morning like this? And I can hear the brook laughing all the way up here. Have you ever noticed what cheerful things brooks are? They’re always laughing.’”

The world is sacramental. In the world around her, Anne always sees God’s truth, beauty and goodness. In her childlike nature, she is able to view the world as something that will elevate her to the divine, even if she does not realize this yet.

When was the last time you took a stroll in a park or watched the bees pollinate flowers, or sat in a field watching the weeds blow in the wind? Slowing down to admire the beauty around us returns us to our childlike state, and it is in this state that we are more open to seeing God and His goodness. Reflecting on the beauty in the world around us opens us up to seeing the Lord’s grace in the day-to-day. If we can retrain our brains to be childlike, we will evidently be drawn closer to our Creator. Watching my toddler’s fascination over how a ball fits into a hole or how the wheels turn on a car awakens in myself this childlike wonder, and I cannot help but slow down and contemplate more deeply the things occurring around me.

We may not be able to return to being children again, but we can bring back our sense of awe and wonder. We can change the way we see ourselves and the world. Take Anne’s example once more:

“Oh, look, here’s a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom. Just think what a lovely place to live – in an apple blossom! Fancy going to sleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasn’t a human girl, I think I’d like to be a bee and live among the flowers.”

The Law of the Gift: A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

Set in Paris and London during the French Revolution, A Tale of Two Cities is essentially a love story that revolves around three central figures: Lucie Manette, the woman who is being courted; and Charles Darnay and Sydney Carton, the two men who are in love with Lucie. Charles is the more virtuous man between them—he is self-assured, bold, compassionate, and generally honorable. On the contrary, Sydney is a talented lawyer but otherwise the “idlest and most unpromising of men.” Eventually Charles and Lucie get married, and Sydney is left to wallow in his own self-pity. However, when the French mob sentences Charles to death some years later, Sydney decides to trade places with Charles and submit to the guillotine, allowing Charles to go free with Lucie and their young family.

The following words from Gaudium et Spes, a document from the Second Vatican Council, serve as the interpretive key to the novel: “[M]an...cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.” In other words, if one wants to flourish as a human being, then the only way to do so is to give oneself away in charity for God and neighbor. St. John Paul II referred to this principle as the “Law of the Gift.” Notice the use of the word “law” here. As a human being, following this law leads to flourishing in Christ. Choosing to break this law and live for oneself assuredly leads to consequences, one of which is deep unfulfillment.

Sydney’s character development is an extraordinary example of the Law of the Gift in practice. At the beginning of the novel, Sydney is immersed pathetically in his own self-pity. Having failed to live up to the promising expectations of his youth, he is unable to break free from his depressed, alcoholic, self-focused state. Dickens captures Sydney’s plight as follows:

“Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.” 

However, when Sydney resolves to go to Paris and sacrifice his life for Charles, Lucie, and their family, something extraordinary happens. From the perspective of one of the main characters, Miss Pross, listen to the description Dickens now provides:

“Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life remembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney’s arm and looked up in his face...there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the man."

Dickens also recounts Sydney’s final thoughts before he dies: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”

Based on the above accounts of Sydney, the transformation that comes from following the Law of the Gift is apparent. Sydney determines to give his life away in total selflessness, which changes and raises him. He now has purpose and inspiration to become who he was meant to become.

While most of us will not die as dramatically as Sydney Carton, his story in A Tale of Two Cities is an astonishingly relevant one. Each day presents many opportunities to follow the Law of the Gift. Choose to do so today and be made new.