In the rush of getting to Mass this morning, I doubted that I would have time to be grateful. But the One who is inspiring these words had other plans. Churches. And so the word churches went into the journal. What have they meant in my life that spurs gratitude.
Ah, beauty, first recognized in Catholic Churches. Bells ringing, flowers, always flowers, vestments, especially the rose colored ones, or the green ones in ordinary time that speak of growth, trees, life. Soaring arches, stained glass windows with colorful scenes.
There was a church on Long Island, I think St.Anthony's, that we would go to on Holy Thursday to see.The church was festooned in white banners with gold letters and gold trimming.White altar cloths but most memorable, canaries in white cages high up along the walls.What a sight and sound. Then, on Good Friday, the churches were stripped bare. So empty to show what life is like without Christ because on that day He is dead . No bells even, just wooden clappers.
The monastery church of the Trappists here in Georgia. Built in the 50s by hand out of cinder blocks. No fancy stained glass just windows made of blue and pink strips of glass that paint the bare white walls with color when the sun comes and the chanting begins. And one Spring, a stunning deep blue orchid in a pot on the altar.
A church in El Salvador that had no walls just some wrought iron bars well spaced. The breeze blew through when it wanted and the Stations of the Cross were beautifully painted tan roof tiles.Light, airy, God's house.
The gorgeous Cathedral in Leon, Spain where I took my concern to prayer. My plantar fascistic was flaring and I had no idea how I could walk the rest of the 500 miles of The Way of St.James, the Camino. I knelt and just said;" help."The Voice said :"Did you think I brought you all this way without being with you 'til the end ? Stretch and stretch and all shall be well."The next day I walked and it never bothered me again.
A smaller place, a chapel in a convent in Alabama. I was resting in my room when I was urged to go to the chapel. I wanted to nap but the urge persisted. I shuffled off and then knelt before the monstrance with the Host exposed. After a few minutes, I gazed up and heard these words,"This is all that matters".Yes.
And finally Notre Dame, where I spent 20 minutes kneeling before the rose colored window and felt that Presence that others have felt and had no words for. Even non-believers. That was before. This June, my family allowed me to have my time there again. Of course, She is damaged, there is no light inside, yet, sitting on a wall praying the Lady's rosary, I felt that, nothing was lacking. Trees overhead were waving and then I felt such compassion for a lady next to me who was in pain. I held her hand and church happened outside, beyond the tall temporary fence.
For these sacred spaces and others, I give thanks.
2 comments:
Such an inspiration. I too love the churches i have had the blessing of visiting. Where was your St. Anthony's? There was a beautiful St. Anthony's near where I lived on Long Island.
It seems to me that the St.Anthony's On Long Island that I mentioned was on the south shore somewhere.By the way, who might you be? And thank you for commenting.It means alot.
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