Richard Rodriquez first entered my consciousness as a PBS Newshour California-based correspondent who commented on issues such as minorities, immigration, and the environment . This is the only one of his five published books that I've read.
In his foreword he notes that all of the chapters, some of which have appeared in periodicals, were written after September 11, 2001, "years of religious extremism throughout the world, years of rising public atheism, years of digital distraction. I write as a Christian, a Roman Catholic. My faith in the desert makes me kin to the Jew and the Muslim."
He might also have added that he writes as an openly gay man, a position that is at odds with with the Roman Catholic Church's position on homosexuality. That also helps explain the title of the book. He points out that "darling" is a term of endearment exchanged between lovers, especially on stage and screen, and during the 50's it was a staple of married life affection. It's often used ironically and self-consciously, and it seems to me that Rodriquez is using the term to indicate his relationship to the Catholic Church, an ambiguous and self-conscious one. To the question of why he stays in the church, he says simply "I stay in the Church because it is mine." It gives him more than it denies him, he writes, so he is defining the church , rather than its official formulations defining him.
This appraisal of the church puts it in the larger context of other religions, specifically the three Abrahamic faiths that all came out of the Middle-East dersert. One of his key chapters suggests what he has gotten from thinking about the desert. For instance, "Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad - each ran afoul of cities: Moses of the court of Egypt, Jesus of Jerusalem, and Muhammad of Mecca." The desert, by emptying them of vanity and egotism, was a period of trial before they emerged as religious leaders.
This notion of emptiness, of getting away from, or at least of putting the urban lives that most of us lead into perspective, lurks in all of the book's ten chapters. Whether it's a bout with cancer that Rodriquez describes (contrasting it with Lance Armstrong's accomplishments), reflections on the city of Las Vegas that emerged from the desert, the failure of Cesar Chavez's vision of united farm workers, or Francis of Assisi embracing lepers, Rodriquez is pointing toward an emptiness that needs to be filled, filled though, with something more than what the world of technological offers.
For lack of a better term, Rodriquez talks about the "word of God," the word that reflects nature and the eternal, a word that comes from the "Holy Desert." The Torah, the Bible, and the Koran are all "irrational," but that does not mean that they lack value. They are themilieu from which we thirst for a promised land, a salvation, a heaven.
It's a thirst not easily quenched, as Rodriquez emphasizes. Humanity is made up of people who believe a multitude of crazy things. "Some among us are smart, some serene, some feeble, poor, practical, guilt-ridden, some are lazy, arrogant, rich, pious prurient, bitter, injured, sad. We gather in belief of one big thing: that we matter, somehow. We all matter. No one can matter unless all matter. We call that which gives matter God."
Rodriquez ends by writing that "we celebrate our passions as the victims of love on earth." Religion emphasizes this celebration best, and for that reason Rodriquez embraces his Catholic faith. It's a poetic, elliptical vision, grounded and modified by his personal experiences, and it's convincing.