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I’m currently reading a book called The Brief History of the Dead by Kevin Brockmeier, and I must say, it is absolutely riveting! Brockmeier is a wonderful writer and he is very quickly becoming one of my favorites. Anyway … There’s a section, about halfway through the book that is very well-written and incredibly thought-provoking (like the rest of the book) … a meditation on the notion that God is Love. Given our Pope’s recent encyclical, I thought I’d share it with you (if only because I’d like you to fall in love w/ Mr. Brockmeier’s words as well. But also to hear your thoughts). Please do feel free to share your impression. 
Here it is:
He was nearing his own apartment again when he passed a booth distributing T-shirts that read GOD IS LOVE, stacks and stacks of them, in red and white and black, and as the phrase moved in and out of his vision, it provoked a dialogue. There was one part of him that believed that God truly was love, that the equation was really that simple. But there was another part of him that believed that love was too small a force: too small for God and too small for what people needed of Him.
The first part said that the love of God was like sunlight and water to us: it strengthened us, filled us out, gave us color. It was only when we rejected that love, when we shut ourselves away from it, that we withered in on ourselves and lost our joy in Creation.
Foolishness! said the second part. It’s not the love of God that nourishes us, it’s the hope of God. It is hope of any kind. Hope and love are two separate forces, whether you’re talking about God or whether you’re talking about human beings.
But doesn’t love offer everything that hope does and more? the first part asked.
Insofar as love generates hope, perhaps, the second part said. But love doesn’t always generate hope. Anyone who has ever experienced love knows that you can have too much love or too little. You can have love that parches, love that defeats. You can have love measured out in the wrong proportions. It’s like your sunlight and water – the wrong kind of love is just as likely to stifle hope as it is to nourish it.
Coleman let the two voices rumble on at each other, thundering back and forth, though which was the thunder of his gut and which was the thunder of his sky, he couldn’t say. It was only when he noticed the other people in the elevator staring at him that he realized he was speaking aloud. He found a package of rice cakes and a jar of peanut butter in the cabinets of his apartment, and he fell upon them with great hunger …
Here it is:
He was nearing his own apartment again when he passed a booth distributing T-shirts that read GOD IS LOVE, stacks and stacks of them, in red and white and black, and as the phrase moved in and out of his vision, it provoked a dialogue. There was one part of him that believed that God truly was love, that the equation was really that simple. But there was another part of him that believed that love was too small a force: too small for God and too small for what people needed of Him.
The first part said that the love of God was like sunlight and water to us: it strengthened us, filled us out, gave us color. It was only when we rejected that love, when we shut ourselves away from it, that we withered in on ourselves and lost our joy in Creation.
Foolishness! said the second part. It’s not the love of God that nourishes us, it’s the hope of God. It is hope of any kind. Hope and love are two separate forces, whether you’re talking about God or whether you’re talking about human beings.
But doesn’t love offer everything that hope does and more? the first part asked.
Insofar as love generates hope, perhaps, the second part said. But love doesn’t always generate hope. Anyone who has ever experienced love knows that you can have too much love or too little. You can have love that parches, love that defeats. You can have love measured out in the wrong proportions. It’s like your sunlight and water – the wrong kind of love is just as likely to stifle hope as it is to nourish it.
Coleman let the two voices rumble on at each other, thundering back and forth, though which was the thunder of his gut and which was the thunder of his sky, he couldn’t say. It was only when he noticed the other people in the elevator staring at him that he realized he was speaking aloud. He found a package of rice cakes and a jar of peanut butter in the cabinets of his apartment, and he fell upon them with great hunger …