A fly keeps obnoxiously buzzing around, sometimes landing on the altar cloth that was washed...oh wait...a year ago. There are papers rustling and a mower pelting grass and pebbles at the windows. So much for revered silence. This doesn't resemble Heaven. That's where you belong God; not here. This isn't what you deserve. Plopped among unworthiness, surrounded by hypocrites who can't even concentrate on their God before them. What time is it? I have work to do. The phone keeps ringing. The demands never end. I know you're outside of it, but time doesn't stop here, God.
Someone lets out a soft snore in the corner. Another sneezes. Probably from the dust. This isn't marvelous. It isn't glorious. I'm shaking my head at you, God. Where's your glory? Why do you deign to descend here? If I close my eyes...will that help? If I try to feel you, will I experience your glory? Maybe if I weren't next to him - he smells like sweat. It's his fault.
But you chose this. You who are madly in love with your creation, with each of us....with the fly. Searching for you we give you praise. Unseen angels making up for our inadequate worship. You smile on the snore-er, while I judge. Heaven is different, yes...but I'm not there. And you want to be with me. Fr. Dan said I would fall over if I saw your glory. I would be immobilized. So for me, you hide and I have to take the leap of faith- pushing my boundaries to see the unseen behind that bread.
“Look harder” you say. “My glory is in everything.” This is your heaven- our hearts. The undeserving hold more of your love. I'm starting to understand...It's that you're here despite the mundane, the messy, and the mediocre. Your glory sanctifies. Your glory overlooks. Your glory is in being humbled. Your glory is in making sure that I saw these things. Your glory is even in the things that bother me.
I noticed there's dust on the monstrance.Pin It
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