Benedict XVI commented that the image and likeness of God imprinted on the human soul carries with it a burning desire for God, analogous to the ardent desire expressed by Christ to share the Last Supper with his apostles. This human desire manifests as a longing or yearning for something greater than any of the temporal goods of our surroundings. It is the soul hungry for transcendence, the restless heart searching for the Good that will bring it peace. God may be hidden from our eyes, but he is not absent. God is a modest lover, waiting by the side of the road we travel.

Regarding these transcendent concerns, Rosalía’s album, Lux,  caught my attention.  The CD includes this text by Simone Weil: “Love is not consolation, it is light,” taken from her book  Lightness and Grace . The songs performed by Rosalía reveal her search (perhaps even her encounter?) with God. Much has been written, and continues to be written, on this subject. Along the same lines of pleasant surprises, a few weeks ago I listened to the latest release from the group La Oreja de Van Gogh , Todos estamos bailando la misma canción (Yo creo en Dios a mi manera),  featuring Amaia’s return as a solo artist. I’ve been listening to this group since the beginning of the century. All of these are proposals that place God at the center of attention and give one pause for thought.

At the same time, I was reading a recent book/interview with the Norwegian Nobel laureate in literature, Jon Fosse:  Mystery and Faith: A Conversation with the Theologian Eskil Skjeldal  (Penguin Random House, 2025). Fosse is a prolific writer. He has written novels, plays, poetry, and essays. In this book, he recounts his encounter with God, beginning with his childhood and continuing through his conversion to Catholicism. He doesn’t shy away from any question, simple or thorny, on sensitive current issues within the Catholic Church. The underlying theme of his answers is his understanding of art and faith in God. He says: “Writing has become my way of life. If I didn’t write, the emptiness would be too great. For me, writing is what drives the pain out of the darkness. Writing, and now, faith as well” (p. 32). Writing and art involve an attitude of listening and obedience to something that comes from outside; that is why he points out that “writing literature, poetry, is about moving forward by listening, not inventing. It is, so to speak, about bringing to light something that already exists, and that is why, in encountering great literature, one sometimes has the feeling of seeing something that was already known, without being aware of it. Poetry is the opposite of ‘whims’ and ‘creativity,’ which, by the way, is a word I detest. And when you listen, you are silent. When you listen, you allow something to be said to you. And that is what you write (p. 123).”

From this perspective, the good writer—Fosse states—listens, relinquishes the spotlight, so that the artist diminishes and reality grows, allowing it to emerge. It is the same sentiment expressed by Juan Ramón Jiménez: “Don’t touch it anymore, for that is the rose!” This attitude of reverence and respect is key to understanding, to a large extent, Fosse’s vision of faith, God, and the Church; for alongside brilliant insights and stances, the reader also encounters opinions on conscience, sin, same-sex relationships, baptism, and sacramental communion that depart from the deposit of faith professed by Catholicism. It is precisely this fundamental attitude of the Nobel laureate—that is, the attitude of listening and reverence for what has been received—that is lacking in these matters.

Fosse seeks coherence between faith and the life of faith. His vision as a believer is rich and broad. He doesn’t try to show off; he acknowledges his limitations and, with modesty, notes: “Yes, everything I say is said by a novice, by someone trying to enter into the Catholic Christian faith and embrace it, based on the assumptions I ultimately have. So here and there, in everything I say or write, things will have to be added and subtracted. Here and there, a certain ignorance will also be noticeable (p. 132).” The discerning reader will know how to gently smooth out any rough edges they find.

In any case, these and so many other testimonies are a testament to the longing for God, the search for the face of the incarnate God, the God always faithful, awaiting the response to the love imprinted on the human soul. Fosse’s final words confirm this assertion: “Greatness, that which makes me Catholic, lies in the mystery of faith. It is true, I say it with my hand on my heart. And one can participate in this mystery every day in a concrete way. The greatness of the Catholic Church lies in the fact that, despite everything, it has been able to preserve and transmit this mystery. Even to me (p. 133).”