I’ve got my earbuds in again tonight, and I’m listening to a Spotify station called “Catholic Hymns/Chants.” I keep this one around because when I’m in the right mood, the deep calls of the organ gorgeously mixed with the angelic voices hits just right. It brings me back to sitting in that hard wooden pew, as the sweet heavy scent of incense wafts over my nine year old head.
Some Sunday mornings I’d kneel on the padded kneelers, fold
my hands and look up at the incense swirling above me. It would mix with the
dust and the light shooting through the stained glass. In those moments I felt
like it was just me, God and the angels. When it was time to receive communion
I automatically stood with the rest of the parishoners in the pew. I didn’t
understand what it actually meant to receive it yet, but something about it was
holy. And quietly comforting.
It felt like I existed on a different plane in those moments. I can still taste the crunchiness of the communion host on my tongue and how it melted exactly 6 seconds after putting it in my mouth. I would, with folded hands, follow the person in front of me as I walked slowly back to the pew.
I didn’t know God too personally back then but I felt His big
presence over me in those moments. I felt almost snuggled in a huge hand,
although I didn’t know it was His at the time.
Sometimes these Catholic hymns hit me a different way.
After I turned eleven some things changed in my life and we didn’t attend that church
very often anymore. Several years later I returned in search of answers and comfort,
desperately needing some semblance of a fuzzy feeling. I smelled the same
incense, walked the same slow walk up to get communion, and kneeled and sat in
the same way as before. I was looking
for any kind of salve to pour on my scratched up teenage heart.
I didn’t find it.
It wasn’t till later that I really met God in His fullness,
in many tiny moments realizing my standing in the reality of his actual hugeness and
grace. Since then it’s been a process of learning even more about Him (and
myself), but His salve has never dried up and my heart has been snuggled into
his big arms even deeper than I could have imagined as that nine year old in
the pew.
I don’t attend a Catholic church anymore, but I truly
believe my little heart’s first experience with God was in that pew.
And if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell nine year old me something
(I’m ok with it if you want to eavesdrop):
Little one, keep looking up.
Little one, what you are about to experience is not your fault.
Little one, keep learning about that hugeness that is God, but don’t let that hugeness be a barrier between you and Him. Let Him be your cathedral when you feel lost in the confusing wilderness.
