Encouraging Words about Our Church

Catherine Doherty (see Feb. 18 post) was a woman of prayer who could rightfully be called a mystic.  She was a mystic who was equally comfortable spending days in silence with God, or sitting in a diner having coffee with an old friend.  Her mysticism came out of something very primitive:  a core belief that human beings belong in the presence of God. 

I recently read a passage from one of Catherine’s classics, Molchanie:  Experiencing the Silence of God.  In it she describes a spiritual journey into the silence of God.  She tells of the temptations she faces, the things she sees, the ways she experiences God.  The passage that had my attention was her description of the Church, which she encounters while on this pilgrimage of prayer.  She sees the Church torn apart.  She fears for the Church. 

I could identify with what Catherine saw and what she feared.  We all can.  We worry about our Church, like we worry about our families.  We wonder what to do to breathe life into her, to serve the folks falling through the cracks, to restore the image of the Church as something beautiful but humble.

I found Catherine’s words very comforting, because she reminded me what Christ does for his Church, that he loves her more than I ever could, and that I too can rest “among the pines” in the knowledge that the light of the Church is continually renewed by Christ himself:

“From a vantage point in gentle mountains I saw the Church….  There she stood, above the tree line, shining in the rays of the noonday sun.  She was beautiful and simple, with her doors wide open, and into her streamed rich and poor alike.  As I beheld the Church, awe took hold of me.  These words from the Old Testament came to me:  ‘Take off your shoes; the place is holy”….

When I looked again, the scene had changed.  A disruption, a dismemberment or tearing apart seemed to be taking place.  The doors through which so many people had passed were being barred.  I shook my head and tried to clear my eyes, for they were filling up with tears.  I couldn’t believe the people of God were causing all this turmoil!  But they were.  Each had his own idea of the Church….

As my father had taught me to do, I lifted the ‘two arms’ – of prayer and fasting – for the Church.  At the same time I realized that the Church was the beautiful, shining Bride of Christ.  He had said that the gates of hell would not prevail against her.  I knew that she was his beloved, and that he, God, was all tenderness, all love, towards her.  She passed in front of my eyes, the beloved of God....

Yes, I saw the Church torn apart.  I was going to weep, but then I saw Christ putting her back together again, she who had come from his side.  There was music in the air, and she became whole again.  So I was at peace for a little while, because I knew that the Church is forever being restored and renewed in her Lord.  We celebrate his resurrection from death once a year, but he restores his Church every moment of the day and night.  

I relaxed among the pines.  It was night.  Brighter than all the stars and the moon was the Church, shining in the darkness.”

Excerpt from Molchanie:  Experiencing the Silence of God, Madonna House Publications.

How Long We Wait

Ready or not, Lent is upon us!  We can think of Lent as a teacher, a school that we faithfully attend for 40 days in the hope that we will be changed – that we will be altered in some way by what we are taught.  One lesson Lent teaches is the lesson of waiting.

My students and I spent the last six months studying some of the treasures of the Hebrew Bible, leaving me with more appreciation than ever for the amount of time the people of Israel waited patiently for their God to fulfill his promises.  Yes, there were questions, there was confusion, there were times when things looked awfully bleak and murky.  But as a people, they refused to give up on their God who, they believed, would keep every promise, win every battle, and triumph over every evil:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.

Yet, you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
To you they cried, and were saved;
in you they trusted, and were not put to shame.

This is one of Lent’s lessons.  And of course, it is one of the lessons of the Cross.  God unfailingly keeps his promises.  But sometimes, how long we wait!

The poem “How Long We Wait” by Thomas Merton was given to me years ago by someone who wanted to see me through a time in my life when things seemed upside down and backward.  I’ve treasured it ever since.  The movement and imagery of Merton’s poem helped me understand the beauty of waiting – the perennial questions, posed a million ways, and the prayerful expectations of human longing.  It captures the faith of the Israelites, the life-altering lessons of patient waiting, the joyful expectation of our Lenten longing – we who wait for the Bridegroom to laugh, when the dark is done.