and no matter how jaded I become, I always cry when Eponine dies.

It’s funny – you’d think that a bitter middle-aged man like myself who fancies himself still dangerous in both the intellectual and physical aspects of the notion of “dangerous,” would not be the type of person to make a blog post explaining how Eponine’s death still makes him cry ugly bearded man tears.

Well, you’d think wrong – and I’m not even a little bit embarrassed. Eponine has made me cry since 1990. In fact, Eponine is who I go to when I simply need to let it all out.

Yes, I, a toxically masculine man seek out a fictional female character set against a backdrop of the beginning of the 300 year long global Freemasonic revolution … to identify with, share heartache with, and have a good cry.

There’s no purer heartache in fiction than Eponine, and there’s no better example of selfless love – not because Eponine was a good person. Rather, because Eponine was a horribly flawed person who loved purely, once, and gave her life for that love.

Regardless of how old I become, the selfless loneliness of Eponine will always wreck me.

I mean, wreck me in a way that’s absolutely unacceptable in public. If you’re not gay or an especially sensitive woman, I’m not watching this Freemasonic manipulation with you – and those are two demographics that are unlikely to ever be in my living room.

So, I watch it alone, and I weep alone – because crying alone will always be better than crying with fags or with women who think they understand the pain a man feels, simply because he happens to shed tears, or simply because he happens to be identifying with a female character. Those things don’t demonstrate the value of Eponine.

The value of Eponine, for me, is in her perfect depiction of my love affair with God my Father. She doesn’t intend to depict such a thing, and she does so imperfectly and heretically. But, the character of Eponine demonstrates the love I feel better than any other.

It’s a love that feels unrequited – and not for an insignificant period of time. This unrequited love lasts a lifetime.

That lifetime isn’t perfect. It’s a lifetime of a street urchin. A lifetime of sin. A lifetime of struggling not to sin.

But, amidst that life of despair and sin, there’s a love she will never betray. A love whose needs are far more important than her own. A love who she will sacrifice her happiness and her very life to please, without even considering requesting credit or compensation in return.

The Freemasons who capitalize on such tragedy will tear your heart out and call this “waste.”

The Catholics who are infected by secular humanism will honor Eponine’s sacrifice publicly, but not a single one of them will understand anything about Eponine’s character. Of course, they’ll never admit that.

But, there are those of us who are madly in love with Our Lord. Some of us serve Him with complete abandon. At times, we twist in the wind while begging Him simply to let us know which way we should allow the wind to guide us.

We love Our God with our entire being. We do so imperfectly, of course. But, we do our best. It consumes us, and …

It feels unrequited, at times. For seasons. Freaking every day now. It feels lonely.

It feels like the most irrational and heretical thing, ever: that I, a horribly flawed & created being am being more faithful to this relationship I have with an infinite & perfect being, than He is – because I know that I’m here, hurting, lonely, afraid, and suffering – and I can only guess at His presence.

So, I identify with Eponine’s selfless and self sacrificing love. I replace her love for Marius with my love for Our Lord.

And then it all falls apart, because I know that my love for Our Lord has never been unrequited, and that comparing any love I feel as “selfless” in relation to Our Lord is the literal height of absurdity, as He embodies the very act of selflessness.

So, there’s nothing logical or theological about Eponine that one can boil down into a theologically correct Hallmark moment.

It’s purely emotional, and, to be honest, even the emotions she elicits are unfair to God. But, the truth is that I don’t identify with Eponine because I understand her desperate unrequited love for a human.

I identify with her because I love God like she loves Marius, and sometimes it feels like God notices me as scarcely as Marius noticed Eponine.

That’s a theological impossibility, of course – but there’s no reason to let that get in the way of a good solid cry, when a man needs it.

Why? Because if God exists we know that a) He is all loving, and therefore our interpretation of an unfair reality is wrong; or b) He is tyrannical, and therefore our interpretation of unfair reality is completely irrelevant; or c) there is no God, and therefore our interpretation of unfair reality is an utter waste of time and energy.

In short, if God exists, He’s either perfect Love, or He isn’t. If He IS, then that extends perfectly, and infinitely, and any disgruntlement we feel is due to our own failing, and our own incapacity to appreciate divine, objective, but perfect love.

That’s the answer – but man is it tough, some days.

Here’s Lea Salonga – the best Eponine, ever:

10 thoughts on “No Matter How Old,

  1. Her sorrow is beautiful. The sense of longing for a better life, one that cannot be obtained, her love for a man who cannot reciprocate her love. It’s a deep sadness, but not quite despair. She doesn’t fill the cuts of her heart with stone or fluff, she lets it bleed out. I think of Christ’s agony in the garden. His sorry. His thirst for us. Her death is beautiful, sublime if you will. I think that touches a certain spot in some of our souls. Thank you for this reflection.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Growing up, I truly believed death couldn’t be memorable in fiction especially in musicals.

    But than Les Mis enters my life, and everything changed- a musical and story that disproved and challenged a number of things I thought I knew. I discovered that something as heartbreaking as death could be moving and touching and even memorable. Eponine’s death still makes me tear up- well, a number of Les Mis songs do

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I must show your comment to my son. I love him so much BUT there is a gap, a thing impassible between us. We are very close. He has even pondered how he capsule survive if he had to without me. We have been through profound dark trenches together. BUT, when he tries to use words in certain matters to describe certain profound pain we find ourselves separated and unable to participate in the other. I have understood it to be his manhood that I am unable to participate in no matter how much I love him. He suffers greatly because he looks around him and finds no one. I alleviate nothing and in fact make it worse many times. He is of chloric/melancholic, as I am, disposition. We connect on many levels because of this. It is quite special and a gift from God for both of us are lonely in this life. Yet! What you described here puts words to that place my son and I often, especially as darkness deepens around us, find ourselves. To cope or to find a way to move on we silently acknowledge it after the usual accusations him: you don’t understand me: Yes I do I’ve been there done that and you need to trust me. We revert to apologies for yelling knowing the chasm exists yet without hurting us as mother/son. We live with it. We both acknowledge there will be a day all will be known and love made perfect. It hurts. I’m welling up inside with sadness thinking on it yet I would have it no other way because my imperfect, headstrong son loves me more than any other being on this earth including all my adult children who love me much but is mixed with self interest and need for security. That’s ok. It’s human. But this son would give up all security and “knowing” even willing to enter total darkness to preserve my integrity and salvation. Even doesn’t even demand I understand him. He suffers and wishes I could but not for his fulfillment…for mine. He doesn’t only have this desire for the “other” for me but everyone he meets or already knows which when faced with it’s impossible he retreats into his private darkness where he emerges by the next time we talk with bits of more light only to have it repeated over and over. He is sinful and imperfect. He battles alleviating by way of alcohol and mostly does ok. He battles intense anger. He battles unrequited (seemingly) love from God but in reality it’s true between humans. He finds no one to live him like he loves them even in small talk. He is lost when it comes to small talk. His profession with other engineers has brought some relief but I know my son. He will be calling me with the same pain. Thank you for bringing me peace but I thank you in advance for giving me the opportunity to hand him words that may help him even if for one profound moment. From one man to another. My son had these tears you speak about. Yes, I have my tears and I’m not discounting them. But they are a mother’s tears which have their own agony and loneliness in the garden but a man’s authentic tears and struggles in our time especially are rare, lonely and by faith, powerful. Maybe because we live in fag world the light of true manliness shines bright although hidden except in a few words written or spoken such as these you have written here. From the other side of the chasm, Michael I shout thank you and please pray for Aaron, my son. Sorry about any typos. I don’t feel like rereading. I’m “spent” now and have no coins to draw out of my soul to edit.

    Liked by 2 people

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