Wrestling with Belonging

I went to a women’s group. No woman wants to walk into a room full of women alone - with no social buffer. No Gal Pal, no babe in arms, no glass of wine. Social misery. As I walked up to the hall I caught glimpses of white bobbing around. Must be the reflection in the window. Nope. Those bobs of white were attached to the scalps of several women of venerable age.  I was a solid 3 decades younger then every other lady there. And to make matters worse they are each paired up. There wasn't one solo head of white which to sidle up to. So, I did what I think a very British thing to do - I got a cup of tea in order to have something to fiddle with. Knowing that my presence in this tight knit group of church ladies was probably making them feel as awkward as I felt I sat with my "approachable" look on my face. Well, at least I tried to think many approachable thoughts so it could ooze out through my body language. More ladies filtered into the room. Each lady was greeted by name and then quickly paired up with another one, pairing, pairing. The seat next to me was finally occupied by a kindly woman who very helpfully told me, "There's a Mum's Group on Thursday mornings." The priest then came in, introduced himself and immediately followed up by saying, "There's a Mum's Group on Thursday mornings." I returned my tea cup to the lady in charge of tea and she asked me if I'd heard about the Mum's Group on Thursday mornings. 
OK, well. 😂 Message received.
But I stayed because I'm not a quitter. Well, that's a lie. I'm totally a quitter, however John was my ride and I had to wait for him. So I stayed and we prayed the rosary. I realized just how flat a sound it is when an American says, “God.” I haven’t resolved the issue yet. First I just said it my way - but it sounded so loud and obnoxious that I started trying to soften it to a rounder “Oh” sound. But then it sounded like I was trying to fake an accent and that’s infinitely weirder then just having the one you were born with. Then I tried to just whisper the “God” part but that was a lot of diligence and not a lot of prayer. I really should not be allowed out of my bubble.

Going to this women’s group is yet another microcosm of my overall experience of traveling here in Europe with my dozens of children. “Dozens” is the European translation for six. Weirdo American, with her brood of, what must be Super-Rich, offspring.

Knowing that as soon as I open my mouth I will be spotted as the newcomer - I tend to offer weird, tight grins and lots of head bobbing to distract from the fact that I am not saying more then hello, please, and thank you. Like a kid who just had braces clapped on their now-forgotten smiles, I will NOT show my teeth. I will not be forced to admit how foreign I feel. 

But I continue to go and try stuff. Partly because my husband is forcing me to and partly because it is the right thing to do. Openness is important. Be open to life - open to relationship and open to change. My life has revolved around Openness to Life and this is not the moment to shut down in a funk of nervousness because last Sunday the tea with the Indian couple (who were apparently not a couple) was so weird. And it WAS weird. 

I knew better. My social instincts were all the heck over that one. But again. Open to life. Open to people. This is what I do because I believe in the value of people and relationship and community, not because it’s always comfortable. Often it’s painfully uncomfortable. We escaped that disastrously awkward experience with nothing worse then an hour and a half of lurching around for topics to discuss that could last more then two volleys then Anthony eating a spring roll and finding out that it was filled with cabbage instead of chocolate. And frankly, I was glad we tried. It wasn’t a friendship made in heaven but it was a sincere human connection and it was a generosity offered and received. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Launching into the next jungle of social engagement, I will take comfort from that awful moment in Venice when I was made to feel like the outsider among outsiders. When I felt I was being told to leave. Who on earth would consider bring children to Venice anyway? After 5 weeks on the road already I thought I was becoming immune to that feeling. But no. Actually, I’m not sure that maturity and self-confidence has any staying power for me - they both seems more like the tides. Sometimes high and sometimes low - the only thing being certain is that it will go out again at some point - probably when it is most inconvenient.

But then I preach to myself, my most fitful and distracted audience (even taking into account my 9 year old, Thomas). "You belong. You belong because you were called. This IS your place and where you are MEANT to be - whatever that lady thinks." Hmmm. My preaching is not taking. The tide of self-confidence and maturity is well on its way out and the best I can hope for is to find a little tide pool and curl up to wait for the return of deeper waters - exposed and vulnerable until covered again. 

Gradually, I tune into the bells. The bells that followed us all over the Continent. We were rarely, if ever, more then a hop, skip and a jump (or “spittin’ distance”, as my neighbor would say) from Christ in the tabernacle. The bells sing to insecure and lonely me, to the fallen world, to the sick and pained and hardened: I am here. I am never far. I have chosen to dwell among you. I follow you on your journeys and I await you in the tabernacle. My light is always on for you. I remain incarnate in this world in order to be close to you. Because I enjoy your presence. I just love to be near you.

We belong because He belongs and we belong within Him. He dwells in the tabernacle. A throne, or a cell? Or both? He is forgotten and left alone. Treated as a relic of a long dead past. The gilding of the ark far more admired then for the flesh and blood it houses. And yet. He remains. 

He remains. He remains among the thousand of surging tourists in Notre Dame - Paris, San Marco - Venice, Mont St. Michel, The Milan Duomo, St. Stephen’s-Vienna. People photographing and enjoying the beautiful art that was created to honor him - yet He is forgotten. 

This finds me disconcerted and unsettled initially. And then completely comforted. It is infinitely better that He remain then be set aside. The world surges around Him in these places - the world comes to him and he dwells among us in all of our varying levels of openness and awareness. There is nothing more fitting and at the same time, less fitting then seeing our Lord in the tabernacle in one of these places. It forces me repeatedly to come to terms with my own fittingness to receive. We are none of us worthy - we are none of us aware enough of the honor - we are none of us pure vessels of his body to the world. And yet - he doggedly remains with us. He just won’t be got rid of. He will stay. 

And his presence is what tells us that we are just where we belong and also just where we don’t belong. We are a pilgrim people - never fully at home in this world but fully home in Him. We are here to carry him to the farthest corners of the earth with the confidence that He has gone before us. He also dwells in the places that are least “appropriate”. Least fitting. My discomfort in my own skin and my place in a community (or lack there-of) is dissolved in knowing that Christ in the tabernacle is the fulfillment of the paradox of belonging and not belonging. I am in good company. The best company.

Krakow, Poland. We wandered into a church off the main Market Square, just to check it out. We had been soaking in the cosmopolitan feels of the square, street musicians, fountains, fruit stands, playing some soccer, etc. Mixing with all sorts of folks. We walked into this church and BAM! Incense, gorgeous music, the place was packed with an enormous hodgepodge of people adoring the Lord in the Eucharist and going to confession. We are blown away. 

It was standing room only. Well, most people were kneeling. The entire nave was jam packed. People kneeling in the aisles. Poland is doing something very very right.

At the Divine Mercy Shrine Christ's tabernacle is actually a globe. He dwells among us all. He is in this world because he loves to be with us.

There are flags leading up to the chapel where Christ appeared to St. Faustina and instituted the Divine Mercy devotion. We prayed with the sisters at 3pm - "For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and ON THE WHOLE WORLD."

Sacre Coeur in Paris has had Perpetual Adoration for 400 years. Most people are pushing and shoving to get a view of Paris from the portico (which, I must admit is outstanding) and see the beautiful art inside. The line to get in was snaking back and forth in front of the doors. But if you ask for the "Believer" entrance you can get in for Mass or adoration.

This map is of the area surrounding Sacre Coeur. During WWII those divots are all places that bombs landed. The Parisians attributed the lack of damage to the actual building of the church to the presence of the Eucharist being adored.

Again, lines of people to see the art. But, I got the distinct impression that our Lord enjoys being surrounded by all these people from all over. He dwells here in order to be near us - even if we are unaware of him (as all of us are to some degree or other all the time. After all - the veil has not been lifted yet). There is a crown of thorns housed here. The thorns on the crown are from a plant native to Israel and have blood from a person who was alive during the 1st century. The rest, as our tour guide said, is a matter of faith. 

Our Lord has a great view of Salzburg, Austria from the Abbey that Maria von Trapp attempted to join.

St. Stephensplatz in the center of Vienna is another of his homes here on this planet. This home was filled with Hungarian pilgrims there to venerate the Weeping Madonna who has taken from Hungry. She hasn't wept since the 1600s but believe me, those Hungarians don't feel forgotten by her.

He even dwells hundreds of meters below the surface of the Earth in a chapel carved entirely out of salt. (Poland)

I couldn't believe that tabernacle light was lit! They even have Sunday Mass at 7 am every Sunday down here.

"He holds in his hands the depths of the earth and the highest mountains as well."