My Spiritual Awakening to Holy Presence
My Eyes were Opened
We had just moved back to San Francisco in late summer and before school started when my father decided to enroll my brother and me into St. Joseph's Catholic School. Prior to this time, I don't remember attending Sunday services or having any religious training. We were, however, baptized Catholic, and this was the church where our family had its roots. The school was part of a large complex, and St. Joseph's Church was the anchor. For a little guy in fourth grade, the building seemed massive.
Entering a parochial school was a new experience. The school was run by an order of nuns who operated the school with strict discipline and a ruler when you acted out. Of course, we had to wear a uniform consisting of a white shirt, blue sweater, and gray corduroy pants. I don't remember much about the school, but entering the church was a different matter.
The church building was impressive! Built in the Romanesque style, the church stood out. Not only was the outside impressive, the sanctuary added to its charm. The memories of entering the church are still fresh in my mind. As I walked down the main aisle, I could hear the echo of my foot steps bounce off the walls. Off in the corner, I could hear the whisper of voices as someone was offering their confession of sin and ridding themselves of guilt and shame. Continuing to walk, I could see a stranger kneeling at a pew and quietly reciting the rosary. Something was going on here, something new and mystical. Looking up, I found myself surrounded by a cacophony of brilliant light as each piece of stained glass caught the morning sun. Moving closer to the high altar, where Sunday Mass was offered, both sides of the altar had red votive candles strategically placed. And for ten cents, you could light a candle in remembrance of the prayer you just offered. High above the altar hung a gold cross to remind you why you were there. As I stood in that space for the first time, I somehow knew that this was a sacred space. In the midst of that, the silence spoke volumes. Standing in awe, I knew that this place was holy! No one had tell me; I was experiencing the moment.
Sadly, the church has since been deconsecrated having been badly damaged by an earthquake. It was left in ruins until it was remodeled as an art center. Does this mean it is no longer sacred?
What I have learned since is that sacredness is not necessarily based on a place. What makes something sacred is the moment--a mystical time when you encounter the presence of God.
No comments:
Post a Comment