Coming Home
As a child, I used to sit in church with a sense of wonder and awe as I scanned the mosaics and stained glass windows. One Sunday when I was ten, someone other than the aged, mumbling monsignor gave the homily. It was so engaging that I forgot where I was. It was the first time that I witnessed a priest so filled with exuberance and joy that it was palpable. I remember his body language, hands grasping the edges of the ambo as he leaned forward with earnest sincerity. Looking back, I believe I felt the presence and movement of the Holy Spirit.
Fr. Tony was new to our parish and passionate in his vocation. He gave an entire homily on our response: “It is right to give You thanks and praise.” I was lifted up by his enthusiasm. I have no idea how long he spoke, but the Spirit soared in my heart and throughout my body and mind. As Fr. Tony spoke from the stirrings of his heart, I was invited to go deep. I realized that I, too, could exult in God.
It is remarkable that I remember this exact moment at Mass. I’ve been pondering the reason why the memory popped up in my consciousness recently. A little background can help me explain why it is so significant for me.
I often cried at the drop of a hat when I was young. I seemed to live in fear of loud noises, weirdly textured food, a questionable side glance from someone, even a hint of teasing or criticism. I remember one particular morning at the park when I was six. I was taking swim lessons and I had just been moved up a level. Having learned the basics of the freestyle stroke, I was immediately moved to the line with the bigger kids. In turn, I jumped in and kicked furiously as I rotated my arms toward the other end of the pool. I could hear the instructor shouting at me. In my mind, she was yelling because she wasn’t happy with me. I thought that I must not have been going fast enough or I was doing something wrong. I climbed out of the pool crying and walked away. I never looked back.
I realize now that the instructor was enthusiastically encouraging me to reach the other side. At the time, though, I misread her intention. This makes sense given the reality of my home life. To say there was a lot of yelling in my house growing up would be an understatement. That was the primary way that my parents communicated with one another. It seemed to exacerbate my sensitivity whenever I was faced with similar noise outside my home. In my young mind, raised voices always led to yelling and aggression.
As I look back and compare who I am now and how my younger sensitive self took in the world, I see a vulnerability that allowed me to both receive Fr. Tony’s message and to reject my swim instructor’s well-intentioned and loud encouragement on the side of the pool. Some might say it’s a gift and a curse to have such an openness to the movement of the Spirit and a sensitivity to outside stimuli. This helps me to understand how I can receive God’s promptings even as I struggle to process harsh realities around me. Rather than scare me, Fr. Tony’s earnest delivery opened a door to my inner self. It was as if I had come home, but not to the home I had known.
I’m still quite sensitive to the world around me, flinching at a loud sneeze, unable to eat squishy peas, hating the sound of my Australian shepherd’s incessant barking. But I find that this sensitivity enables me to remain open to the Holy Spirit’s movement in the world. And I feel a sense of wonder and awe whenever I encounter God, who is greater than me.
Dacher Keltner, author and professor of psychology at U.C. Berkeley, has studied the phenomenon of wonder and awe for the past two decades. According to him, witnessing generous and kind acts, spending time in nature, experiencing art or music, and considering big ideas can all lead to a sense of awe. I would add encounters with the Sacred and openness to the Holy Spirit to that list. Awe, according to Keltner, helps us to connect with others, to be altruistic and cooperative. It can also reduce stress and a sense of loneliness.
I have noted that children naturally experience awe and wonder, a sense that there is something greater at work in the world. This fundamental belief that goodness and love exist opens the heart and mind to receive the beauty and sacredness all around us.
As adults, it can require intention to see and experience awe and wonder. Take this past Christmas Eve. As I contemplated the Incarnation and gazed on the creche, I was struck by the homily I heard. The priest shared that the infant Jesus opened his eyes and saw Mary. And he not only saw Mary then, but he sees us (me) now. Its relevance is highlighted in the change from past tense to the present. God delights in me today just as I delight in God. How marvelous.
This proclamation of the Word triggered a greater sense of wonder at the deep mystery of Jesus, God with Us. I was left teetering on the edge of a profound moment of revelation. There’s a reason that my heart soared when I heard it.
What does it mean that God delights in me? God didn’t become human simply to save me from sin. Jesus walked among us to bring us home to our true selves in God because God rejoices in creation. As a part of God’s creation, I come home to myself and to God whenever I experience what often lies right in front of me: the wonder and awe of all created things. If I can pay attention to God’s presence, in whatever form that takes, I will find myself recognizing God’s delight in me. My delight in God then follows with praise and thanksgiving.
“It is right to give You thanks and praise!” What prompts me to give God thanks and praise? I would say that experiences of joy, peace, acts of service, tenderness and loving encounters as well as beholding beauty in God’s creation fill my spirit with immense thanksgiving and praise. If only Fr. Tony knew the impact of his words on my life today. Forty years ago, he gave me a gift for which I remain grateful. He led me to a different way of seeing and enjoying God.
As I’ve matured in my faith and ability to balance my sensitive nature, the idea of joyful adoration of God and God’s enjoyment of me resonates all the more. I can experience this exultation now as I run or walk outside surrounded by natural beauty. Any time I look into the eyes of a child or hear her laughter, I see echoes of this joy. Heartfelt conversations with others can offer glimpses of God’s exuberance in people. These moments of grace have changed me.
Perhaps, Jesus’ delight in you and me flows from our participation in the divine life as we walk in the world. And, in turn, my exultation in Jesus and in you reflects the same jubilation in the Incarnation. Here there is joy as we accept the reality of suffering in our midst. God is present in this world, even now delighting in creation. Despite reality, God remains.
During this season of Lent, and every day, may we be sensitive to the sacred that surrounds us. May the Holy Spirit move amongst us and through us, bringing us home and leaving her mark as if a tongue of fire rests on our heads.
Song for Contemplation: “Home” sung by Bridget Everett from the series, “Somebody Somewhere”
