“Certain accidents of the weather, for instance, were almost dreaded by me, because they woke the being I was always lulling and stirred up a craving cry I could not satisfy.”
Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Stage One: Formation
The air was warmer than it should have been. But that was not unusual for Texas. Summer here is like an impatient child interrupting his parent’s bathroom respite-it surprises in the strangest places, at the strangest times, in the strangest ways.
The porch awning yawned across the entryway casting a blanket of evening shade on the bench where I had lazily sprawled my body. The sunset’s fiery countenance was grandstanding against the threat of darkness with valiant streaks of red-orange luminescence and stimulating the dormant sweat glands of my forehead. One size nine was tucked neatly behind the other as I absent-mindedly clicked the heeled sandals in tempo.
In time, a white Chevy approached the house with the preconception to sweep me away, like the valiant steed of my wildest dreams-thankfully with a little more horsepower and far fewer saddle sores. For you see, there was a Belgian early music ensemble performing at a local Anglican church and-say what you will about the Anglicans-they know a thing or two about music. The Baroque called to me and I answered with the palpitating heart of a Bach fan girl.
“If it’s not Baroque, don’t fix it.”
The German motets accosted me like a sweet perfume, and it was while under their spell that my welling eyes happened to glance upon the tabernacle situated quite prominently behind the altar.
“I had forgotten there would be a tabernacle,” I thought to myself.
Then flashed before my withered memory the time years ago when I had meant to attend Evensong while studying in Oxford, but instead stumbled into an Anglican Communion service. It was an odd sensation to observe a liturgy with such a reverent sensibility, yet muddled in the charming tendrils of relativism. There I witnessed the shell of truth, hollowed out and smoothed into a glittering silhouette , and I remembered resisting the well-conditioned urge to genuflect before the empty tabernacle. But that’s all it was: a silhouette clothed in radiance. And without the real Person the rituals feel like a game of charades.
Here I was again in an Anglican church with music drawing my soul upward and outward in a posture of worship, when in a moment of grief I was suddenly overcome by the emptiness of it all. This place was born from schism, from division. This was not the one Church that Christ had founded.
And then I felt again the pain, lingering fresh in that moment, of all the scandals staining the Catholic clergy, and I felt the arms of my heart reach out with resolute faith to grasp the Church dogmas like a childhood blanket. I understood why people had left. I understood that the wolves had and have infiltrated, harmed, and betrayed. But the truth is that the Truth still is. Only the light of Truth can burn away the filth. And only the sacraments will be able to nourish our generation in the trenches of our discontent.
I knew that I could never leave my home.
The stained glass was sure pretty though. Lightning danced in the background brightening the vibrant colors of the windows, like a story behind a story. A storm was brewing. I inwardly smiled realizing that I had no umbrella.
Stage 2-Maturity
Tardiness is not a vice to be tolerated in tornado sirens. By the time we heard them the winds were already upon us. It was too late.
“St. Monica’s has adoration!” I remember shouting as the weather had taken a turn for the worse. It wasn’t safe to be on the road. The sky had turned an eerie green and billowing clouds could be seen flanking the sky when illuminated by flashes of lightning. I violently tapped my phone, searching for updates as we sped down the road in a frightened Impala. Was this really a tornado? In the middle of the city? In October? Only moments before we had been laughing at the unexpected thunderstorm. Now the extinguished streetlights had cloaked us in darkness and the air had suddenly quieted, as if bidding us to listen for the imminent crescendos of destruction. We weren’t laughing anymore.
The lull lingered but a moment, but it was long enough for my mind to sharpen the jagged edges of my thoughts. I was thankful that I had gone to confession the previous day, thankful for the life I had lived, and yet suspended above the fear of death-whether from the doubt of its immediate possibility or the certainty of God’s mercy I know not, but only that it is in these moments of chaos that we reveal to ourselves what we truly believe.
A flying tree branch arrested my revelries as it collided with the car in front of us. The next intersection would be the decisive moment: turn in one direction and attempt the 1.5 mile drive to hunker at home or stop there and seek shelter in the Catholic church. We veered into the church parking lot with seconds to spare. The sweltering wind and rain compelled us to amble the path to the sanctuary doors like drunken sailors.
I shook the handle in utter disbelief. The doors had been locked in the power outage. “Adoration is going on,” I said to myself. “If I die then I want to be there.” I was prepared to curl up right there in the doorway like Lazarus the beggar. Things turned out well for him in the end. But this was no time for ironical pangs of devotion.
Jesus would have to find me in the trenches.
I scooped up the lengthy dress I had insisted on wearing to the concert and cursed my heels for not being helpful in a disaster zone. Unlike Dorothy Gale, clicking them now would do me no good. The sirens blared louder in our ears and with each stuttered step the adrenaline rose. Branches were loosed from their homes and became projectiles across the night sky.
“I am the vine, you are the branches.” John 15:5
At last, a janitor opened the door of a nearby building and we instantly sprinted towards the enclosure.
“For God will hide me in his shelter in time of trouble, He will conceal me in the cover of his tent; and set me high upon a rock.” Psalm 27:5
It was strangely quiet inside the community center, though a muted commotion was humming violently against the building. I slumped against the wall in the gym and found my breath.
“Preserve me, O God, for in thee I take refuge.” Psalm 16:1
It wasn’t long before I received a message from my landlady saying that the roof of our duplex had collapsed. It’s a strange feeling, letting go of every iota of normalcy like that. Not knowing what lies before you, being thankful for those unbearable heels because they may be the only shoes you have left, sitting there, sheltering from the storm, but not only the storm: the fear, the attachment to worldly possessions, the comfort of routine and regularity, the pride of having a nice car and an affordable rent. I worried for my roommate who I had left lounging on the couch at home.
And then I worried for Jesus. It seems silly in retrospect, it’s not like He needs me for anything, but I thought of Him just one building away, exposed in Adoration, vulnerable and quite possibly alone. Having just come from a vacant tabernacle, I was more dramatically aware of the gravity of His presence there in a real one. And then I further realized (in a certain sense) that He is always exposed to the elements of this world, always vulnerable to the projectiles of our discontent, ungratefulness, and ambivalence. Sometimes we, the branches, tear ourselves away and desert him. But in the end, He is still the master of the storm.
“They came and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” He said to them, “Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?” Then he got up, rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was great calm.” Matthew 8:25-26
Stage 3-Dissipation
Insurance premiums are simply coping mechanism for potential damage. There is more certainty than not that damage will occur, whether now or later, or else we wouldn’t deem to pay. But what about the insurance against spiritual damage? Against sin? Against the demons that rage in the background of our souls?
I climbed over the wreckage where my neighborhood once stood, feeling stranded in an apocalyptic blockbuster. I was already desensitized or somehow indoctrinated to the eccentricity of the scene: roaming people, disheveled streets, and decapitated rooftops. Hollywood and pop culture had taken care of that. Instead, I was experiencing an almost reckless anticipation. The unknowing of the damage was churning within me.
The air smelled of gas mixed with damp, earthy ether that made my lungs suspicious of the atmosphere. Children in pajamas and their parents lined the street corners with gaping faces as the emergency crews shouted and gestured wildly. It could have been a circus performance with the flashing lights, skewed tree limbs and the acrobatic street maneuvers needed to navigate the debris. The power lines swung low animated by the writhing life of an electrical current, still pulsing within.
I wandered through the chaos looking for my home. My heels could not bring me there this time, and even if they could, did I really want to see what was left? But I suppose the rightful calling of a Christian soul is to sojourn for truth amongst dilapidation-whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual.
The question for me in that moment then became, would Christ still be found beneath the rubble? When He crushes my house does my treasure lie with it? When He shatters my heart do I trust in His Providence? Or was it all just a silhouette, a shadow of rationality cloaking a facade in which the only light is a virtue signal? I didn’t want to live in a world like that. But first I had to pick up the pieces and start again.
“For he wounds, but he binds up; he smites, but his hands heal.” Job 5:18
It is in those life and death moments that we realize the pettiness of our scruples and the weakness of our control. And all the shame and good intentions and smug complacency that we bury deeply suddenly rises to the surface like morning dew, and then it’s all gone, drifting away with the breeze. And only the things that matter remain. And we are free.
“Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5
There was a quick kiss goodnight, and then we slipped away into the darkness, blind but not alone. It was sure one hell of a date night.
