By Fr. Joseph Galdon, S.J.
Many years ago when I was in fourth-year high school, our English teacher assigned each of us a research paper on an American poet. I was lucky enough to be assigned the poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay. She was an American poetess of the 1920s and even her name sounded like poetry. I had to read through her published poetry, and one of her poems made a deep impression on me — even then, when I was still very young. The poem was a sonnet. It had no title, it was just called Sonnet LXXX. I’ve used the poem many, many times since then in retreats and talks. I call it “Love In the Open Hand.” Down through the years, it has made an impression on many people, especially the young.
In the first part of the poem, a young girl is talking to the man she loves. She says: “I don’t give you presents the way other girls give presents to the guy they love. I don’t give you my love the way some girls give their love to another person. I don’t give you my love in a very expensive jewel box that’s made out of silver and is covered with expensive pearls. But it’s locked, and the girl never gives the key to the other person. I don’t give you my love that way at all.”
That’s a beautiful picture of how many of us often give our love. We put it in an expensive box that’s all for show. But the love, the real love, is locked inside the box, and we never give anyone the key. We only give them the trappings of love, maybe because we are insecure and afraid to give someone the key to our hearts. It’s much safer to give the jewel box, but not to give the love.
In the second quatrain of the sonnet, the girl goes on to say: “I don’t give you my love in a ring — a beautiful ring that is shaped like a lover’s knot and which has a legend written on the outside of the ring — Semper Fidelis. I will always be faithful.” But the ring has a little secret chamber in it and there is a drop of poison in the chamber. “The ring kennels a drop of mischief in the brain.” I give you the ring, the sign of love, but inside the ring is a thing that hurts. The words on the ring are very clear — “I will always be faithful.” But there’s always a doubt in the middle of it: “Do you really mean it, or will your love turn to hurting some day? If I open my heart to you, will you hurt me?” That’s the way many other girls give their love, she says. But I don’t give you my love that way at all.
In the second part of the sonnet, the girl says: “I give you a very simple thing — I give you love in the open hand, nothing but that.” I don’t give you love that is only half a love — a love locked away — a fancy box, but I keep the key for myself. I don’t give you love that is only for show. I give you love in the open hand. There are no gems around that love. It’s just love all alone, with no decorations at all. It isn’t a love that is hidden away. It’s al there in my open hand. You get what you see: “Love ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt.”
Psychologists tell us that is a hard thing to do — to put your love in the open hand and hold it out to someone. When you put love the open hand, you’re vulnerable. The other person can reject it. He can say “I don’t want it” and that is a very hurting thing. Most of us keep our love in a clenched hand. We play it safe. Even worse, we keep love clenched in our fist and we hide our fist behind our back. We don’t want to take the risk of offering naked love in the open hand.
T.S. Eliot talks about offering love in coffee spoons. “Here’s your spoonful of love, today. Come back tomorrow and I’ll give you another spoonful.” But real love isn’t like that at all. It’s all there
in the open hand. It’s all yours to take or not. If you take my love, that’s terrific. But if you reject it, that’s OK too. It’s up to you to take or not, but I am offering it all to you.
When you offer love in the open hand, you run the risk of rejection sometimes. People, for one reason or another, wisely or foolishly, will reject it. But if your love is in the open hand, there will be many moments of genuine fulfillment, when people take it all and say: “You’re terrific. I needed that!”
Toward the end of the sonnet, the girl has two beautiful images of love in the open hand. I bring you love, she says, “as one would bring you cowslips in a hat swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt… calling out as children do: Look what I have, and these are all for you.” These are two beautiful images — a little girl bringing you one of those big sun bonnets held upside down but full of flowers, or a girl filling her skirt with apples (those were the days when skirts were really skirts!), running up to you holding out her skirt full of apples, and telling you: “Look what I have and these are all for you!” I’ve often reflected that the position of the Blessed Mother’s hands in all the statues and pictures when she isn’t holding her child, is always like that — hands held out wide open. That’s always the position of the hands in the statue of the Sacred Heart, too. “Look what I have and these are all for you.” The Blessed Mother gives love like that; the Sacred Heart gives love like that; children give love like that. Why can’t we give love like that, too? Because we’re scared. We’re afraid of rejection and so we play it safe. We don’t want to be hurt. We would rather go through life with love clenched in our hands, very cautious about how we will give it and to whom. But we’re only happy when we give love in the open hand.
Go for broke! Take a chance on love. Put it all there in the open hand. Tell everyone, “Look what I have and this is all for you.” I know we will be happier people — and holier ones, too.
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