If you believe that you are the beloved, you can offer forgiveness, even when it cannot be received. For still you say, “I set you free and I am willing to forgive you even when you cannot forgive me, because I claim my belovedness.” And you can move on, saying, “I can ask your forgiveness even though you cannot give it to me yet, and perhaps ever.”
— Henri Nouwen, Turn My Mourning Into Dancing, p. 80
Most couples believe there is a point when the situation becomes hopeless. But I am here to tell you it’s not true. Jesus promised that seeking reconciliation will bear fruit, so there is great hope that a marriage can be restored to a place beyond what a couple could even imagine.
— Cheryl & Jeff Scruggs, I Do Again, p. 164
We had already seen how God takes the trauma in our lives and uses it “for the good of those who love him” (Romans 8:28). We’d learned about trusting God even when it seemed crazy to do so, and we’d seen firsthand the amazing power of forgiveness.
— Cheryl & Jeff Scruggs, I Do Again, p. 153
The sacred romance calls to us every moment of our lives. It whispers to us on the wind, invites us through the laughter of good friends, reaches out to us through the touch of someone we love. We’ve heard it in our favorite music, sensed it at the birth of our first child, been drawn to it while watching the shimmer of a sunset on the ocean. It is even present in times of great personal suffering — the illness of a child, the loss of a marriage, the death of a friend. Something calls to us through experiences like these and rouses an inconsolable longing deep within our heart, wakening in us a yearning for intimacy, beauty, and adventure. This longing is the most powerful part of any human personality. It fuels our search for meaning, for wholeness, for a sense of being truly alive. However we may describe this deep desire, it is the most important thing about us, our heart of hearts, the passion of our life. And the voice that calls to us in this place is none other than the voice of God.
— Brent Curtis and John Eldredge, The Sacred Romance, p. 195
The gospel calls us continually to make Christ the source, the center, and the purpose of our lives. In him we find our home. In the safety of that place, our sadnesses can point us to God, even drive us into God’s loving embrace. Here mourning our losses ultimately lets us claim our belovedness. Mourning opens us to a future we could not imagine on our own — one that includes a dance.
— Henri Nouwen, Turn My Mourning Into Dancing, p. 37
Intercessory prayer for one who is sinning prevails. God says so. The will of the man prayed for does not come into the question at all. . . . Prayer on the basis of the Redemption sets the connection working, and God gives life.
— Oswald Chambers, quoted in Prayers for the Faithful, by Mary Ann Bridgwater
It strikes us that to hope in the kind of goodness that would set our heart free, we must be willing to allow our desire to remain haunted. This side of the Fall, true goodness comes by surprise, the old writings tell us, enthralling us for a moment in heaven’s time. They warn us it cannot be held. Something inside knows they are right, that if we could do so, we would set up temples to worship it and the Sacred Romance would become prostitution. We understand that we must allow our desire to haunt us like Indian summer, where the last lavish banquet of golds and yellows and reds stirs our deepest joy and sadness, even as they promise us they will return in the fragrance of spring.
— Brent Curtis & John Eldredge, The Sacred Romance, p. 140
But the God of Scripture is also the God who refused to nuke Nineveh, even though that’s what Jonah wanted; who forgave David for a really staggering list of wrongdoings; who wants only for us stiff-necked people to repent and come home; who goes out into the stormy night for the one lost black sheep; who throws a party when the Prodigal Son returns; who loves us so much that God did indeed send his only begotten son to come live with us, as one of us, to help understand our stories — each one unique, infinitely valuable, irreplaceable.
— Madeleine L’Engle, The Rock That Is Higher, quoted in Glimpses of Grace, collected by Carole F. Chase, p. 323
I have been asked, and many times, “But can’t we choose to exclude ourselves?” Of course. Haven’t we, as children, haven’t our own children flung out of the room in anger? And haven’t we waited for them to come back? We have not slammed the door in their faces. We have welcomed them home. Jesus said, “If you . . . know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”
— Madeleine L’Engle, The Rock That Is Higher, quoted in Glimpses of Grace, compiled by Carole F. Chase, p. 318
Once you buy the evangelical born-again “Jesus saves” mantra, the idea that salvation is a journey goes out the window. You’re living in the realm of a magical formula. It seems to me that the Orthodox idea of a slow journey to God, wherein no one is altogether instantly “saved” or “lost” and nothing is completely resolved in this life (and perhaps not in the next), mirrors the reality of how life works, at least as I’ve experienced it.
— Frank Schaeffer, Crazy for God, p. 390