Senseless Devotion

I like to think up catchy titles for these blogs and it was shortly after a recent visit to the Basilica of St. Mary (in Minneapolis) that I came up with the title for this one.  The intended meaning is that our faith and devotion to Jesus Christ is NOT sensed - that is to say, it is not something experienced by any of our physical senses.  This probably doesn't come as a surprise to anyone, but I think it bears repeating to better take it to heart.  

The inspiration for this post was a funny, silent little exchange I had with another person.  Now the Basilica is right in downtown Minneapolis and there is a fairly eclectic crowd that hangs out there on weekdays.  There are homeless people in need of help, there are art students sketching out the architecture on easels, there are tourists with cameras looking all around, and then there are people like me who are there to pray.  There are signs everywhere reminding people that the Basilica is a place for prayer and that silence is to be observed, so everyone sort of shuffles around without making much eye contact, trying to keep quiet.  

This time, I happened to be there to pray the Stations of the Cross.   I do this in the traditional way - meaning I physically walk around the outer perimeter of the church, where the station plaques are mounted, and I stop to genuflect, read a meditation from my prayer book and pray silently in front of each station.   Of course, I like it best when no one else is there and I have the whole church to myself, but I'm to the point now where I don't get too self-conscious if people stare at me while I'm doing this.  On this occasion, as I am on station eight or nine (out of fourteen), this guy is walking towards me with his head down.  I am standing still, reading a meditation, and he doesn't notice me standing there.  As I drop to one knee to genuflect, my movement startles him slightly and he recoils, not quite sure what I am doing.   I nod my head to him and keep on with what I am doing.  He proceeds to stare at me.  He then turns his whole body to looks at the wall where I am facing the station plaque.  Now, on the wall there are all kinds of inscribed placards, stained glass windows and paintings besides the little plaque for the station of the cross.  He looks back at me and then looks at the wall again trying to figure out what I am genuflecting in front of.   It occurred to me that the guy was probably wondering "What does he see that I don't see?"  He then gives me a little look like I am crazy and moves along.  

It's so natural to want to meet the world with our senses - how else are we supposed to meet it?  For people who are deprived of one or more of those senses (sight, hearing, etc.) we see it as a poverty.   The historical artwork that presents the story of Jesus Christ to us, out of reverence, always puts "highlights" around the figure of Jesus - a halo, sunlight shining down from above, angels adoring from on high.   But the day that Christ died, as he hung on the cross, there was nothing to see.  I imagine the centurion might have looked at the Apostle John standing with Mary at the foot of the cross the same way the guy in the Basilica looked at me. "What does he see that I don't see".  Of course, the answer to that question is:  nothing.  We walk by faith and not by sight.  

The greatest of our "senseless" mysteries of the Catholic faith is the Eucharist, the very body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ, a "sacrament" wherein we are associated with the saving work of Jesus Christ.  He is our paschal lamb, our passover meal that protects on the night of the destroying angel.   

Thomas Aquinas, the great philosopher of the Catholic Church, wrote a great poem about this "senseless" aspect of faith in Christ - it's called the "Adoro te Devote" (Latin words you see painted on the wall in many Churches...).  I thought I'd like to share it...

I devoutly adore you, O hidden God,

Truly hidden beneath these appearances.

My whole heart submits to you,

And in contemplating you,

It surrenders itself completely.

Sight, touch, taste are all deceived

In their judgment of you,

But hearing suffices firmly to believe.

I believe all that the Son of God has spoken;

There is nothing truer than this word of truth.

On the cross only the divinity was hidden,

But here the humanity is also hidden.

I believe and confess both,

And ask for what the repentant thief asked.

I do not see the wounds as Thomas did,

But I confess that you are my God.

Make me believe more and more in you,

Hope in you, and love you.

O memorial of our Lord's death!

Living bread that gives life to man,

Grant my soul to live on you,

And always to savor your sweetness.

Lord Jesus, Good Pelican,

wash me clean with your blood,

One drop of which can free

the entire world of all its sins.

Jesus, whom now I see hidden,

I ask you to fulfill what I so desire:

That on seeing you face to face,

I may be happy in seeing your glory. Amen