The Art of Taming

I still remember the very first thing I tried to tame. A snowy white rabbit had been snatched from the jaws of our normally sedate golden retriever at the last moment, and we suddenly found ourselves with a new pet. But rabbits are born a wild spirit of the meadows and the hills, and our poor new friend was none too thrilled by her new situation in life. I was not to be deterred, and therefore set about taming the beast with a zest and enthusiasm not to be matched. Needless to say, the rabbit died of a heart attack less than 24 hours later. In retrospect, I may have come on a little strong.

In the years that followed, I honed my taming techniques on a multitude of subjects - from goldfish, to frogs, to rabbits, to dogs, to my ornery younger brother, to my beautiful pony - all of which sported varying levels of success. But with each attempt, I became more aware of one truth: the things you tame have an odd and rather alarming inclination:

they tend to tame you right back.

One of my very favorite books is Antoine de St-Exupery's The Little Prince. It’s the tale of a little alien prince who is wandering the earth on a "quest" of sorts to try to discover: 1) What makes something important and 2) Where he belongs. I could tell you a lot of things about this story. I could tell you about the 44 sunsets you can see in one day, or the danger of baobab trees that are not carefully weeded and pruned while they’re small. I could tell you what selfish roses say when they needn’t say anything at all, or about snakes who offer beautiful things at terrible costs. But mostly, I want to tell you about a fox.

There’s nothing special about this fox, except that the little prince is lonely the day their paths crossed, so he asks the animal to come and play with him.
"I cannot play with you" the fox responds, "I am not tamed." The prince asks what he means by such a word and, after some pressing, the fox finally responds: "It is an act too often neglected. It means 'to establish ties'. To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."

The prince is intrigued by the concept, but when the fox asks to be tamed, the little prince declines: "I want to, very much. But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."
The fox is quick in his response: "One only understands the things one tames."

The prince agrees to try, and the fox explains that it takes time to tame something. One must sit very quietly - and not too closely - and wait. Each day, as the tie grows stronger, the fox will allow the prince to move just a little closer.

“And so the prince tamed the fox.”

As the prince had forewarned, his time with the fox could not last forever. When the day for their farewell comes, the fox begins to cry, which aggravates the child. It had been the fox who had asked to be tamed. It had been the fox who had desired the bond. The fox acknowledges this through his tears, and holds that he does not regret the bond, or the pain to which it led. “One runs the risk of weeping, when one allows himself to be tamed.”As the prince is leaving, the fox gives him a gift: the greatest truth he knows, the one most men had forgotten: “It is the time you waste on something that makes it important. You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”

That line, the one about the weeping, has haunted me since high-school. It’s come to mind countless times, at those moments that serve as crossroads: “Will you reach out, even though there are only a few months left, and there’s really no point anyway?” “Will you kiss him, even though you can’t imagine it actually working out?” “Will you pick up the phone, even though you know it will lead to questions you don’t want to answer?” You run the risk of weeping, when you allow yourself to be tamed. But like the fox said, it’s only through being tamed that the world holds meaning. It’s only through the bonds shared and created that color exists at all. Its memories, and lessons learned, and lives lived together – for a little while – that make it all worth it.

The Church is often compared to a Body, and rightly so. We are the hands and the feet of Christ, and are called to act accordingly. But sometimes I think we're a little like the Brain, too. And if the Church is the Brain, then I think maybe we're each a neuron. A tiny, insignificant little neuron. Psych 101 has gotten a little fuzzy in my post-college days, but I'm pretty sure neurons can't do much on their own. They're good for one thing: connecting themselves to other neurons. But that one thing makes all the difference in the world. When neurons establish ties between each other, they create neuron paths. And neuron paths are the key to each action the Body takes. As the number of neuron connections increase, the Body experiences greater freedom. It's legs move faster. It's arms reach further. It's language becomes more expressive and eloquent. It's instincts become honed, its reflexes are sharpened, and the Body becomes a force to be reckoned with. I'm pretty sure that's what Christ intended for His Church. I'm pretty sure that's what we're here to do: establish ties.

It’s no secret that Korea hasn’t been easy for me. It hasn’t been easy for any of us. There have been truths faced. Fears recognized. Risks taken. Too much Kimchi eaten. And also really big, really gross spiders in the summertime. Each day, we – both the fox and the prince – have tamed each other just a little bit more. We’ve sat a little closer, and looked forward to each other’s presence with a little more joy (except for the days when we just didn’t want to touch at all). We’ve established bonds, and now we’ve gone beyond the risk and entered into the reality of tears. Wednesday night, as I looked around 1717, the words of the fox came to mind once again. “One runs the risk of weeping, when one allows himself to be tamed.” I thought: It was so much easier when I didn’t need people. It was so much easier when I didn’t need THESE people. It’s so much easier when I’m the prince, rather than the fox. It hurts like hell when you’re the one doing the staying. But the fox is right. The weeping is worth it, because of the colors. Because never, in our whole lives, will we hear “Sweet Lorraine” without remembering. Never will we listen to someone play the uke, ride a scooter, dance to Passion Pit, or drink bad beer, without remembering. And the colors will make up for all the weeping.

The fox said one more thing. Something that I’ve always liked, but which has weighed heavily on my spirit this week. A charge. A calling. A reckoning:

“You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”

We have a responsibility to each other now. You can’t tame or be tamed without answering to that bond, in some way or another, until the end of time. Ties can’t just be severed, at least not without leaving a wound that will never really close. And for us, that’s just not an option.

Our lives will change dramatically in the next few months. Both for the princes and for the foxes. But one truth remains: We have a responsibility to each other. We have tamed and been tamed, and that means a little weeping, a lot of colors, and a final charge:

Don’t even try to forget.