Why might God want us to have faith in Him — particularly, in His revealed Word?  One common answer is that it is for our own good: as finite creatures, we cannot know everything about ourselves, our world, or the purpose of our lives.  Therefore, if we rely entirely on our own understanding of things, we are bound to make mistakes now and then.  In contrast, by relying on God’s limitless and perfect understanding of things, we can achieve the best possible result in every case.  Therefore, it makes more sense to rely on the one who has the better knowledge and perspective.

But is it better to always, in every case, rely on God for the answer?  If we do, and if God gives us all the answers we are looking for, we will get everything “right”; but is this the best case scenario?  Is the goal in life to do everything the right way, and to make no mistakes?  Is it not rather to learn the way that is good, and to deepen our love for the good and our disdain for evil?  Put another way, would God be more pleased with a perfectly obedient child who had no understanding of evil other than that God did not want it, or with a mature adult who had learned, and understood, the good for him or herself?  Opinions go either way, but to me, the latter seems much more preferable (as when J.S. Mill asserts that it is better to be an unhappy Socrates than a happy pig); but the Scriptures, and our Christian teaching, seem to endorse the former.  Those who sin less are generally held in a higher esteem by the sacred authors than those who have committed greater sin, even if they grow to become wiser and more zealous than their more innocent counterparts. The idea seems to be that, if the end goal is right behavior, it is better to come by that right behavior sooner rather than later, with fewer mishaps along the way.  It’s just more efficient.  Those who have to learn for themselves have chosen the “hard way.”

Does God therefore prefer an obedient faith to a developed conscience?  Is it better to have faith in God about what is unseen, or to see it oneself?  Certainly arguments could be made in either case, but the latter seems to have the stronger argument.  However, the more developed one’s conscience becomes, the less important one’s faith becomes.  I can take it on faith that a certain practice (say, adultery) is wrong, but if I see for myself why it is wrong (either through reason or through experience), I will believe it is wrong based on my understanding of it, not based on my faith in God’s teaching.  Which is better?  I would say, whichever way relieves the most suffering in the long run.  If I will only have one or two chances in my life to commit adultery, it is better to believe by faith that it is wrong than to discover through experience.  But for something like lying, which I have many experiences to commit, it may be better to discover through direct experience why lying is wrong, because it will decrease my likelihood of lying in the future.  Therefore, I may actually lie less if I have discovered for myself why lying is evil.

This brings up the point of P/PC balance (I took this from Stephen Covey’s book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, p. 57): P (production) versus PC (production capability).  By focusing entirely on production (in this case, commission of good and elimination of evil), and neglecting production capability (one’s ability to choose good over evil), one will actually end up with less overall production than if one had given PC its proper care.  Every business owner understands the value of taking time to clean the machines, give the workers breaks, and research better methods of doing the business.  Likewise, we must be mindful to take the time to educate and strengthen our conscience, so that it may better do its job in the future.  (Students, is not this why you are spending your time and money on school, so that you can make more money and have more time later on?)  Keeping the P/PC ratio in balance is essential to maximizing long-term productivity.  Would it not also be so with one’s conscience?

There are two ways to make decisions: to make them yourself, or to decide to follow another’s decisions.  I believe that this falls into the P/PC analogy.  If doing good is P, and making one’s own decisions is PC, then one can maximize one’s goodness (if defined simply in terms of works) by taking time away from P and investing in PC.  But, one may counter, could a Christian persist forever in P?  That is, if one is absolutely committed to following God’s command in every moment, could one survive by never developing their own conscience — never learning to make their own decisions?  This seems to be the kind of Christians that many people want to cultivate: Christians who lean on God’s eternal Law and not on their own understandings of morality.  Assuming one had the faithfulness to stick with this in every circumstance (or at least the vast majority of them), this would doubtless lead to an extremely holy life, excelling in the production of good.  But though this person would do more good and less evil than the average man or woman, is such a person therefore more virtuous? more praiseworthy? more holy??

Unfortunately, the “right answer” is not always clear in every situation, even to the most faithful of believers (or so I believe).  God does not give us an answer to every question in life.  And it is for these scenarios that we must be prepared — by having a well-formed, functioning conscience.

Because of natural evil (or established moral evil), good things don’t always come out of good acts, and bad things happen to good people and vice versa.  Sometimes it works out right, and sometimes it doesn’t.  That’s the world we live in.   But with a lot of hard work, we can often do great amounts of good for this world, and reverse some of that “natural evil.”

Now imagine a Hell in which people could still make day-to-day decisions.  Why, one might ask, couldn’t they choose to do good every once in a while, thereby making Hell slightly less awful of a place?  The standard answer is that time doesn’t pass in Hell; we exist in a static state of sin and separation from God; there is no opportunity for choice.  But if we were to imagine that the tortured souls were able to make individual decisions, what could motivate them?  If Hell is a place of ultimate corruption, then the proper order of things is never kept.  What *should* happen *never* happens.   This means that good actions would never lead to good consequences — and, one  might suspect, would only lead to worse situations that before.  In this scenario, there is *no motivation* to do good: neither for Heaven, because the soul’s fate has been decided; nor for the good consequences of the good acts, for they would not occur in a perfectly evil world.  I suppose the only reason left to do good would be for good’s own sake.  But this begs the question, Why is the good good? Either because it is commanded by God (who in this case has already pronounced His judgment), or because the good is that which maintains order in the universe (which we have said may no longer be true in a purely evil world such as Hell).  If the good accomplishes evil, what point is there to do good?

Yet you are scared by the thought of that.

I wish I could show you

That there is nothing to be afraid of.

–

This is what human beings were meant to do

It’s the stuff we all are made of

And growing up is scary too

But there’s nothing to be afraid of

–

So just relax and allow me;

Loosen up and let it flow.

I promise I won’t hurt you

Because I love you, don’t you know?

–

[Interlude]

–

I know how much you care for me

I see it in your eyes, your actions

I hear it in your words, your thoughts

That you want to give me nothing less

Than everything you have.

–

But I can’t accept it,

Since to accept would mean to reciprocate;

Or would it? Even if it didn’t,

How could I stand here and take it,

Always receiving, never giving.

That wouldn’t be love.  For me.

–

But it would be for you.  The truest kind, in fact.

To love someone else who doesn’t love you back

Is the truest kind of love, and that’s the kind I want

Both from you, and for another, that we just love

And not worry about the returns.

Why, then, don’t more churches encourage their members to do anything outside of come to Mass? Or if they do, they just mention it with a one-liner during the announcements. Living the religious life is seen by many Catholics as optional, if they have the time or if they want to. This is messed up!! I think the reason that Newman was so different for us than the other churches we have been to is because Newman encouraged us (practially yelled at us during announcements) to get involved, to live the Christian life rather than just think of it. We did canned food drives, went to Tijuana, hosted speakers and discussion topics, and encouraged people to learn more about their religion by going to Anaheim. This was in addition to maintaining the multitude of devotions for which Catholics are esteemed: Rosary, daily Masses, Marian celebrations, Stations of the Cross, etc.

Our people at Newman encouraged us to get involved, both in our mind and in our actions, in addition to in our hearts. It seems to me so sad that other Catholic churches don’t put very much emphasis at all on what religion is supposed to do (and what Christ Jesus helped us do): develop a Christian perspective and practice that will change our life and those of others.

I’ve felt this week like I just can’t make any forward progress with my schoolwork.  I have been working nonstop on an essay that was due on Sunday.  It’s now Thursday night, and I have 1 of 10 pages written.  I have caught up on about half of the reading for the past two weeks in this class, an amount which should have taken me one good day of reading, not three.  I have part of an outline for the essay, but not enough to really write it.  I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, always moving but never going anywhere.

Speaking of spinning my wheels, that’s a good analogy for this period of stagnation.  I remember, less than two weeks before the ride, having ridden 16 miles through Marin County, but later being unable to ride 5 miles home from work before having to catch BART.  Then I rode 35 miles the next weekend, and felt like I could do 35 more.  Oftentimes, I have trouble making it to school, but other times the ride is easy.

This led me to ask the question: What factors go into making a particular ride an easy or a hard one?  Here are some: incline, wind, condition of my bike, my physical energy, my mental attitude…not to mention whether someone is praying for me (a factor which I thought played a large factor in the 35-mile bike ride).  If I am having a hard time riding, I would do best to identify what is/are the cause(s) of my difficulties.  If it’s just that I’m going uphill, this will soon end, and the downhill will come.  If it’s the wind, that’s a more long-term condition that won’t change — it’s like riding uphill permanently.  If it’s my bike that’s the problem, then I am expending unnecessary energy, making things more difficult for myself.  I should concentrate on fixing my bike, because I don’t want my bike to be limiting me excessively.  Or, perhaps I just don’t have the energy right now to perform at my best.  In that case, an energy bar or some water might help.  But if I don’t have the mental energy, the attitude, the dedication to perform, I won’t.  Attitude is an absolutely necessary component.  Without a positive, can-do attitude, I may finish the race, but I will be way behind and feel miserable.  I’d be suffering through something I should be enjoying.  Occasionally, I have been able to overcome this obstacle, psyching myself into a mode wherein I am able to care, and as a result perform at my best.

If only I could carry this analytical mode of thinking to my study life.  Why can’t I concentrate?  Why am I going so slow when I am reading or writing?  Let’s try these out.  Is it an uphill battle, something difficult to do, a dense reading, etc?  Is there an external resistive force, pushing me back and making it harder for me?  Is there a problem with my methods, my mode of studying, that is inefficient, or holding me back?  Is my body perhaps not in a condition favorable to studying (tired, hungry, achey, sick)?  Or, is the problem mental?  Do I not think I can do it, or not care enough?

There is one factor I just thought of: extra baggage.  If I’m carrying too much on my bike, I move slower under the weight.  I don’t have the power (force x speed) to continue with that size load at that speed.  If this is the case in schoolwork, that just means I am overworked and need to take more time and go slower, or drop some of the extra load.

Going through the options for this week, here’s how they go: is this paper I’m writing an “uphill battle”?  Probably not — I like the subject, and while 10 pages is a lot, and does take some time, it’s not too hard.  I’ve done longer.  Is there some wind, or external force, resisting my progress? Would this be “distractions”?  Maybe.  There are a lot of distractions, especially during the first half of the week — but not anymore, really.  They’re always there, so let’s ignore them.  Is there a problem with my method?  Very likely.  Maybe I’m reading wrong, or missing some important step of the paper-writing process.  I did forget to do an outline until Monday night.  Lack of physical energy?  I’ve been sleeping and eating well; I may be coming down with a cold, but it’s nothing bad if I am.  Mental energy?  This is another strong likelihood — I was pretty freaked out Sunday and Tuesday.  Although, Monday and today I was quite unstressed, and still didn’t perform (I read for hours today and only got through 5 pages).  So, whether I’m stressed or not didn’t seem to affect whether I could read and write properly.

This analysis seems to point to my method (or “bike”) as the main problem.  It is uphill, and there is some wind, but I don’t have any extra weight (it’s reading week and I’m not doing anything else), I have the physical energy, and mental attitude doesn’t seem to make much of a difference.  So that leaves the bike.  Perhaps I’m doing something so grossly inefficiently that it’s preventing me from making any forward progress.  Should I take a course in speed-reading?  Spend more time in the library?  Do things in a different order (read, make notes, construct outlines, grab quotations, process thoughts, write, etc.)?

The issue isn’t knowing what to do, or even what to do when. I can prioritize tasks pretty well, in the abstract. The problem is in prioritizing the tasks while still being human. My body has requirements that I have to heed, and my soul also has requirements that I have to heed. There barely seems enough time to do all of these, let alone school or work.

If I were a robot, I could do everything that needs to be done, simply by prioritizing it according to necessity and urgency. I could also plan on my “sleep” and “food” requirements by checking my necessary energy levels and predicting when they’re going to reach recharge stage. As a human, I can do that to a point, but there’s so much more than just food and sleep. Particularly, there’s those “soul” needs like time with friends, prayer, journal writing, music, etc. I haven’t been able to predict these, so I can’t figure out when I’m going to need them or how much. They either “creep in” as I need them; or I deny them and then obviously can’t function (just like when I don’t have enough sleep or food).

That’s why I’m thinking that having an “emotometer”, like a “readout” of my basic needs, would greatly aid me in deciding what I need to do when, for I wouldn’t all of a sudden realize that I really need some alone time or some social time — I’d be able to plan for it, and already have it built in to my day. Or, at least, I could look at this chart, and see what level is “low”, and plan to recharge that one when I have a free moment. So really, it would be like having instruments on my plane; right now I’m flying blind.

But we seem to be designed such that we cannot ignore our hearts forever.  When we are forced to suppress our desires, we find them creeping out here and there — little designs we draw in our coffee foam, paper airplanes we make out of our scratch paper, humming our way through the workday, even stopping for a second to watch the wind ripple through the grass.  We seem to know where our calling is, to some extent, although we don’t always let ourselves realize or admit it.

In the same way, we can endure repression and oppression for a very long time — but not forever.  Eventually, we feel like we have to act.  We say we cannot tolerate this any longer, and we are going to explode if we try to keep it in any longer.  And so our hearts finally get a chance to speak, and we are usually better for it.  More at peace, less stressed out, more honest, and more in control — we feel like we have got a burden off our chest.

It is interesting to note that we are designed so as to have the capacity to restrain our deepest inclinations, but not to deny them forever.  It is like we were created just for this purpose, and to deny that purpose would be to deny (or at least frustrate) our very reason for existence.  I believe this to be a universal experience, and one about which endless novels have been written and movies made.  It is the center of all “coming of age” and “follow your dream” narratives.  But why is this urge so powerful?  And how is it that we can find ways to deny it for so long?

There are many times where I have been praying, explicitly or implicitly, for something I feel I really need, and God appears to give no answer.  Is He really not answering?  Am I knocking and the door is not being opened?  Personally, I find it easier to believe that the door is being opened — we’re just looking in the wrong place.  Often, it’s not the big iron door we’re standing in front of that gets opened; it’s a small side door, one that offers a more direct, if unexpected, route to the solution.  The key is to pay attention, not only to what we’re looking at, but around to its sides, and above and below it, and even behind us: for God can show up in very unexpected places.  That’s part of God’s M.O.: to constantly surprise us and keep us on our toes, so we don’t get complacent and think we know what’s going to happen.  God is in control, and wants us to remember that fact!

Often, too, God will give me an answer that I don’t notice until after the fact. I look back at what happened, and suddenly see what I should have done: how God had put someone or something in my path that could have been the answer to my prayer, if only I had noticed.  Sometimes I’m too tired to recognize it; sometimes I’m too worried or scared that what I think might be the answer just won’t work; and sometimes I’m too attached to my own idea to really consider other ideas.

But that’s the point: what seems to us to be the answer often is not.  We must pay attention and listen to what, where, and how God is speaking to us; we must be willing to put aside our preferred method and try God’s way; and we must have faith that God’s way will work.  The Lord spoke to Moses from a burning bush; to Elijah in a gentle breeze; to Joseph and Mary in a dream.  These are not the places where they expected to encounter God; but it is where they did, and they were open to him.

Can’t find God?  Seems like He’s not speaking to you? Don’t know where to look or listen?  Look everywhere; listen always.  Keep your eyes open and your ears on alert.  He will speak, but you have to be ready to accept what He’s going to say.

Expect to be surprised.

Hannah,

I think you described wonderfully the way that I feel. The Pieta has always been a special image to me, but I never dug deeply into it to see why. Perhaps it is that sentiment of hope lost, energy wasted, the triumph of despair. If there is a theme to describe my thought life over the past year, it is “time wasted, energy misdirected, destruction wrought.” I am not doing what Jesus has wished for me to do with my life…I greatly fear that I am not even making progress. And all that He has given me, I have wasted on self-indulgence and temporal (temporary!) pleasures, as the prodigal son that I am. That has got to cause a gash in the Savior’s side — to know that I have abused my inheritance, neglected his vineyard, and buried my talent. I have good days, and bad days. But the fire is gone, the fire that was keeping me in love with Him (or at least conscious of His love for me). All that is left now are embers, and a few sticks, even a few firebugs that I know will help to get it started… but alas, I have no matches. So I am rearranging the sticks, and gathering the coals together, in the hopes that it may some day flare up again. But until then, what can I do?

I have asked that question before, or rather, have heard that question answered, albeit about a different kind of love. When family counsellors talk to couples whose fire has gone out, one thing they tell them is, “Do the things that brought you together in the first place. Even if you no longer feel any emotion for him, act like you love him. You will find that by acting out the love you wish you had, you will rediscover it. Love builds on love.” What does this mean for me? I was first in love with God by being in love with my Christian community. And I found that, by finding a Christian community to love — even if they be Protestant, and in Santa Rosa — that I was beginning to rekindle my fire for God. When I was working at Parker, I was kept from sinking too deep by daily prayer, and reading either God’s Word or some reflection on it (Rick Warren’s The Purpose Driven Life was a life-changer for me). So I have tried to get back into daily prayer, though I usually spend only 5-10 min before bed, nothing compared to the 30-60 minutes I would spend after work. And, my Lord has given me a third way to love Him more, as you have mentioned above: obey His commandments. (I am not very good at this.) Even if I don’t enjoy obeying Him, even if I do it only out of a sense of duty — or still, even when I obey Him out of joy or trust or my own selfish desire — I see consequences that paint a picture of God’s love for me, and that picture makes me want to fall in love with Him.

I admit, the sin nature is hard to get ahold of, and I don’t want to do any of these things that I know I should do (even though I know they will lead to the right end); and I even do some evil things that I don’t want to do, out of sheer and pathetic weakness. I wish I could see more clearly the picture God has for my future, and the picture He has given me of Himself, both of which I have neglected and broken. All I have is some shards of that wonderful fresco, out of which I am trying to make a mosaic, one that might slightly resemble the original picture that was, and is, my hope and vision. Of the three things that last, I am still holding on to one: Hope, that my God will give me the Faith I need to believe in and follow Him, and that he will re-create and strengthen in me the Love for Him that makes doing His work a thing of joy.

Sunset over the Golden Gate

I woke up this morning, thinking about going for another run, but knowing what happened last time — it took all my energy away for the entire rest of the day.  So, since I had energy — creative energy at that — I decided to work on my history paper on the Reformation.  I dropped Jamie off at school, and settled in to do some writing.  It went quite well — the first two hours slipped by almost unnoticed!  I was taking a break and about to go back when my dad called, followed by a bunch of other things that prevented me from getting back to work.  When I eventually did, I found I had left a book at home that I needed in order to proceed any further.  Besides that, it was almost 4:00.

Today was the day that my friend Hannah and I had arranged to go see Wicked (the musical) in San Francisco.  Well, try to see it.  We were too cheap to buy the $80 orchestra tickets, and they were sold out of the cheap seats months ago.  Luckily, they were doing a ticket lottery for every performance, so Hannah and I decided that would be much more economical.  Plus, if we didn’t get the tickets, it was a ready excuse to go explore San Francisco.

I picked her up at a little before 4:30, and we parked at the BART station.  She had packed a sack lunch for us, so we wouldn’t have to pay outrageous menu prices in the city.  When we got to the ticket office at the Orpheum Theatre (which is right next to the BART station!) we put in our names and waited.  Meanwhile I went to the bank across the street to get money in case we won.  We didn’t win, but we had some nice conversations while waiting, and a family of 4 who had bid on two pairs of tickets won both — which made me happy.  All in all, there were about 10 pairs given away, and about 50 people hoping for one, so we were not surprised not to have won.  I think she may in fact have been hoping we didn’t win … and in any case, it opened the doors to a wonderfully spontaneous evening.

We started off walking through the Civic Center towards St. Mary’s Cathedral, about a 15 minute walk away.  It was closed when we got there, but the view from the hill is quite impressive.  We debated what to do next, and I started getting nervous because I didn’t think we had the time or energy to do everything I wanted to do before the sun went down.  Hannah was getting hungry, which of course reminded me of Laura getting hungry in SF, and the unpleasantness that that led to.  So I suggested we walk to Ghirardelli Square, where we could eat our lunch and have a coffee or hot chocolate.  However, it was far away, and I was worried about Hannah getting too tired and hungry, and was starting to fret about the whole situation, when we saw a cable car approaching from California Street.  I knew California Street was the only east-west cable car line, and I also knew that the Bank of America building (one of the places I wanted to go) was on California Street.  So, realizing the opportunity that God had just provided us, I practically jumped on the cable car and pulled Hannah with me.  Actually it was more like this: ask one of the passengers how much the fare was, realize I only had a twenty, ask if they gave change, hear him respond no, look around frantically for a place to break the bill, wonder when the next car was… and finally, I just made the bold move of approaching the conductor and asking if he gave change.  He did!  (Now this was where i practically jumped onboard and pulled Hannah with me.)  It was a smart move — riding a cable car was a very efficient way to get around the city (rather expensive, but fun too).  At the next stop, we were met by a young couple who boarded and stood directly in front of us, hanging on the poles on the outside of the car.  They were speaking a foreign language, so I asked where they were from.  He was from Spain, she from the Netherlands, and she was visiting him on his spring break from UCLA.  Hannah and I resumed talking about marathons, at which the guy commented that he was on the cross country team at UCLA, preparing for a marathon of his own.  (Hannah is planning on running in the Berkeley Bay to Breakers, in preparation for the Los Angeles Marathon in May!)

The conductor called, “Powell Street, Union Square.  Transfer point.”  Almost on instinct, I got off, assuming that Union Square would be a fine destination (even though she’d been there before).  However, once safely off the cable car, I saw that the B of A building was nary a few blocks down the hill!  We started walking down California, through the edge of Chinatown — which Hannah recognized from being there before — and stopped at an interesting-looking church with an ugly cross on top.  Lo and behold, it was Old St. Mary’s!  I had always wondered where that church was located!  Fortunately, it was open, and Hannah and I got to explore one of the most beautiful, if small, churches I have ever seen.  It reminded me of churches in France — amazing stained glass, huge paintings, fine carpets along the side aisles, and overall a very medieval feel.  We admired the statues, and the Tridentine altar, which had been stripped for lent (which Hannah thought was an abomination).

After leaving there, it was getting toward sunset (as I determined from the height of the shadows cast on the Bank of America building), and we had to decide whether to go up to the top now, in daylight, or whether to eat our dinner.  Luckily there was a plaza right there (St. Mary’s Plaza!), and Hannah was hungry, so — again remembering what happened last time — I conceded, and we had our meal there.  Deli sandwiches, but they were good, and as far as I could tell, non-pork!  By the time we were finished, the sun had set, but there was a good amount of light out yet.  We entered the B of A building, ascended via the express elevator to floor 52 (the lounge on the top floor), and walked into the cocktail bar.  I was prepared for the sight, having seen it just that Sunday, but it still took me with a sense of amazement when I again saw the Transamerica Pyramid beneath us.  Hannah was completely unprepared for the sight — she stood speechless for several minutes as we took in the awesome sights of the bay, North Beach, the Embarcadero, Marin County, the East Bay, and the sunset spreading over the Golden Gate Bridge.  We must have looked at the view for fifteen minutes before we sat down — and luckily, there was a group leaving right then, so we caught their table, with a breathtaking view of Marin County and the Golden Gate.  The sunset was pretty good as sunsets go, but of course was made all the more astounding by the scenery around it.  We sat and watched the bay get darker, and the lights come on, as our talk turned to religion.  We each had a drink (hers was just a coffee), and she suggested a dessert — a kind of multi-tiered platform of flaky pastry supported by columns of really fresh raspberries and blackberries!

We stayed there, soaking in the darkening view and discussing religion, until well after all traces of light had left the sky.  When we did leave, at about 9:15, we walked up Montgomery Street toward the Transamerica Pyramid, and the start of Columbus Avenue.  Hannah for some reason needed another coffee, so we looked for a Starbucks, but they were all closed.  However, we were near North Beach, and I remembered a certain coffee shop that Adam and Tim and I had eaten at a few years back.  Figuring that we could certainly find a late-night coffee shop somewhere in San Francisco’s Little Italy, we walked up Columbus Avenue, commenting on the very-prominent adult entertainment clubs al0ng Broadway & Kearny.  I thought it interesting that we did talk about them, since most of the time when I pass by them with Tim — who is just as modest as Hannah — they never get mentioned.  Anyway, Hannah commented on the number of young single guys on the streets — which I had to admit, I didn’t notice.  That got us into a discussion about the differences between men and women, including what men and women notice and don’t notice.  About that time we found a coffee shop — the same one Adam and Tim and I had been to, and she ordered a coffee.  We sat and talked some more, and I chugged two full glasses of water and a banana.  That of course got us talking about running again, and she is serious about getting together a running group at DSPT.  Besides us, she mentioned a Franciscan student that is interested, and there are undoubtedly others who may be.  Although, she is running 12 miles now — I don’t think I, or any person, could keep up.  Nevertheless, it would be fun.

After that, we walked a few more blocks up to Sts. Peter and Paul Church, on Washington Square.  This Hannah really liked.  We looked for constellations from the middle of the park, tried to avoid the couple making out on the bench, identified some stone figures above the doors (they turned out to be symbols for the four evangelists), and tried to translate the Italian written on the front of the church.  From there, I noticed signs for the Coit Tower (but didn’t mention it to Hannah), and we walked east along one of the streets (Filbert) that was very, very steep.  I could see the view getting better and better as we ascended, and soon the sidewalk turned into a full-on staircase.  By the time we had neared the top, Hannah had finally noticed the view, and so it was not that much of a shock when we finally got to the top.  Still, though, it remained a fabulous view, and I never tire of seeing the downtown skyline from that hill.  We walked around the side (Hannah had to pull me back because we were about to round the corner into another couple who were making out), and checked out the big Cristoforo Colombo statue surveying the view of the North and East Bay.  There was also a map there, and we went over the route we had walked, from the Civic Center to St. Mary’s to the cable car, to Old St. Mary’s, to the Bank of America Building, up Columbus Avenue to Sts. Peter and Paul, and finally up Telegraph Hill to the Coit Tower.

We descended via the Grenwich steps — the ones up which Melanio and I had climbed — to the Embarcadero, and followed that back to the BART station.  During this time the conversation had turned to love, sex, and marriage.  We each admitted knowing practically nothing about love, and to having tried to understand it from a rational perspective, which hadn’t worked for either of us.  She talked a lot about her relationship with Andrew; I didn’t talk much about my experiences, because I didn’t have a whole lot to say, but did mention that I knew love existed, and kind of what it looked like.  She wasn’t even sure it existed, much less if she would ever feel it.  We shared our frustration at the sexual culture, as well as the confusion about what love and sex were really about.  (Funny how most churches never talk about sex, while the mainstream media never ceases talking about it.)

That was when we reached the Embarcadero BART station, and I really had to get rid of those two waters I had drunk an hour or so ago.  So I went to the BART attendant to ask where the restrooms were; they had none.  He sent me back upstairs to the street (at the Hyatt).  Their restrooms were closed too (as was the one on the street itself), so I went up to their mezzanine (more like grand foyer), where I finally (and thankfully) found them.  It had taken so long that Hannah was just about ready to call me when I got back.  We rode back to Berkeley, talked briefly about our adventures (her favorite part was the Coit Tower, mine was the dessert), finally got to my car, and I dropped her off at her house as the clock struck midnight.