a voice

And just when you think all is lost and that there is no possible way to move forward, a door quietly swings open.  It swings open and suddenly after having run down dark hallways desperately trying locked doors, one gently swings open seemingly on its own accord and you find yourself standing in a doorway flooded with quiet light and you hear a voice say...this is the way, walk in it.

God moves.  God lifts the veil, floods in like a river, swings open the door you could never find, much less open, and there you stand in hope and light. 

I can't prove it--but I know it.  It's happened too many times in my life to be random, too often to be coincidence, enough times for me to come to believe that there is Someone who hears me.  Someone who intervenes.

It's not enough to eradicate all doubt because there have also been many, many times when doors did not swing open and only the tightest and darkest of rat holes was provided as the way out...but even then, a way was provided. 

Too many times to be coincidence, too many times for me to not believe and hope, too many times for me to not pray...not enough times to erase all doubt.  Not enough times to make me think I have this under control.  Not enough times to make me think I can do this alone.

When darkness veils His lovely face, 

I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale, 

My anchor holds within the veil.

sleep...He is awake

I can't even remember right now what all has happened over the past month--but I can tell you that I feel like I've been crawling through a mine field on my belly wondering at what moment I was either going to implode upon myself or explode into a thousand psychological and emotional fragments.  This period of my life is certainly among the top three most prolonged stressful times of my adult life.

This morning as I sat in my reading chair, the house tranquil and silent in the early morning hours, I read...have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones, and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace.  God is awake.   (Victor Hugo)

If you can believe those words--and I do--there is a sweeping, swelling, all-encompassing peace that comes.

He is awake...

unexpected

A few years ago Ruben and I attended the morning mass at a local Catholic church.  I think its only the second time I've been to a mass except for a recent Catholic funeral I attended. We were between church homes and looking for places to connect with God and for some reason, Ruben had told me the night before that he wanted to attend a nearby Catholic church, maybe because it was reminiscent of his childhood days in church, I don't know.

I know that over time all of us can and do succumb to apathy and boredom with certain rituals and habits, and I think it is often most evident in our religious practices, and I also come from a church background that doesn't have much of an appreciation for the Catholic church.  But what is old hat to one person and an over-familiar ritual can be the newest and freshest of experiences to another. 

For me, the service with its rituals and ceremonial rites conveyed a sense of reverance and awe that I have missed in the churches I have attended all my life.  It was a service rich in symbols--holy water, a golden crucifix held high and leading the silent parade of the priest and attendants as they entered, the ritual prayers, kneeling in unison, prayers recited together, moments set aside for silence, a message spoken with gentleness and firmness about attending to others with love, and the most reverant of all--the holy eucharist taken together in solemn procession and silence except for the priest's blessing spoken over each of us as the wafer was laid on our lips and as we drank from the chalice. This was holy ground.

And one last unexpected gesture has lingered with me...after an hour and a half of reverant and solemn assembly and ceremony beneath a stained glass window the height of two stories, with the priest in his stately robes and with candles and altar attendants surrounding him, he stood at the doors as we left the service, greeting his parishoners, and when he saw Ruben in front of me, he broke into a broad smile and gave him a warm and affectionate swat on the shoulder as though they were old friends and at the same time reached for my hand and said with a broad and hearty smile, "Good to see you this morning!" and it sounded like he meant it.

I left feeling like I had really gone to church.  Somehow it made the rest of the day more meaningful and satisfying and remembering that unexpected and warm gesture even now fills an empty place inside of me.  

I can think of a few friends and family members who would be surprised and skeptical of any attempt to find God in a Catholic church mass, but there He was in rich and meaningful and delightfully loving expressions.

The gate may be narrow, but the meadow on the other side is expansive and rich and full of life and there is room for many.  Makes me feel like there is room for me too.