some inspiration from Edwina Gateley

When I was in second grade, all of my classmates and I got all dressed up in cute little suits and white dresses one day ready for our First Communion.  There were plenty of complaints about uncomfortable ties and showings off of half inch heels, I'm sure. Probably tons of discussions about parties and gifts and dread of kisses from old aunts who smelled funny.  I don't remember any of it.  

When everyone was lining up to process into the Church, I (who was usually quick to do everything perfectly) was a ball of tears on my tiny little desk.  I just couldn't imagine how, even with all of our prep-work and activities completed in our Religion books, I could possibly be ready or worthy of receiving THE EUCHARIST.  Little ol me. The whole thing just seemed so overwhelmingly big.  And holy.  And scary.  And wonderful.  Luckily my eighth grade buddy from my Kindergarten days was there to calm me down some, and convince me to walk, tears still streaming, into the Church with my classmates. 

Even (especially?) at such a young age, I felt the awe of the holy.  I think that's what I loved about this reflection by Edwina Gateley.  I'm afraid that life, and my very work in the Church has sometimes distracted me from that deeper, primal pull.  

For example, this spiritual and reflective blog post was just interrupted by a call from the apartment complex saying that someone had rented the apartment I wanted out from under me. Stellar.

I need to read more reflections like this, and somehow reclaim my yearning for God.  Ideas?

When I was a small girl, I was fascinated by all things religious and holy. God, obvi­ously, fitted squarely into that category.  God lived (so they told me) in our huge, greystone cathedral, and there, indeed, he was to be found-hiding in a gold box sur­rounded by flowers, candles, and velvet curtains. I spent hours in the silence and the darkness of the huge cathedral-often all alone-just sitting, breathing, awed by a deep, intuitive awareness that I sat with God.

Little did I know, at such a tender age, that I was engaged in contemplative prayer. I was simply absorbed by a sense of divine presence. It has never really gone away. As I grew older, however, life became busy and demanding. I went to college, then to Af­rica as a lay missionary teacher, and later founded the Volunteer Missionary Movement. I didn't really have the time to sit in dark and holy places, wide-eyed by mystery. I was very busy about the business of saving the world.

But I didn't save the world. That has already been done. I am in a sense-like everyone else-trying to save myself, to become fully myself for God. My journey is coming full circle. Older, wiser, and deeper than in those earlier years when I sat in the cathedral, I now sit again, not in my cathedral but in myself. I "sit" wherever I find myself, for my cathedral is within me.

I know now that no matter how far we travel, how much we accomplish, how deeply we suffer, or how joyfully we dance, God is always with us in all of those things for the whole of our life's journey. That dark, silent, and mysterious place stays with us, housing the holy. Like the Lenten experience, there are no extra props. There is just the darkness and the emptiness and, at the very heart of all that the divine presence, the Holy One whom we seek, breathing, hidden within us, eternally loving and waiting.

Edwina Gateley

Gateley is the founder of the Volunteer Missionary Movement.