Finding the Self in the Sacred
The church sits up the hill. Sometimes after the rush of a class discussion, we might slip into a pew. Even when the housekeeper is scrubbing loudly, our spirit may grow quiet. Teeming thoughts are placed on the altar as this day’s offering. In the presence of God, I am known. It is good to be here.
Judas the Maccabee and his brothers led the struggle to oust the invaders. The temple was carefully restored. The broken parts were replaced and the altar rededicated. The community celebrated with fierce joy that the sacred place of God was whole again.
We come home tired. Then there’s dinner. We gather round the table, and quiet or crabby or ready to talk, we are here together. As children we checked on who got the most. Now we watch our portions and listen to each other’s day chewed over. Sometimes we sup with friends. Some days it’s the dogs and me. In the presence of those who know us well, the pieces of our lives come back together.
Jesus tells us not to disrespect the house of prayer. The thieves come in many ways. It might be the music or news that streams through the day. Sometimes we catch the rhythm of the machine and breathe to the ding of the email. The tapes in our head don’t stop. This is no longer the work of our hands. This is not the pulse of life.
The house of prayer is among us. You are here already. At the kitchen table, during liturgy, down in the streets among strangers we find You.
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