The Place Apart

I was a child when I discovered the 'path in between' church and world. I had no idea, of course, that I was 'discovering' anything. I was simply a little girl who was sent off to school each weekday on a city bus.

My Catholic grade school was in the center of a small midwestern city, the kind that did not (yet) have looming skyscrapers but did have tall buildings. The world was safer then, and a child could board a bus alone in her neighborhood and hop off right in the middle of town. No one was concerned about a nine year old girl walking three blocks from bus stop to school in the early morning dark.

While the city was much smaller than, say, Chicago, it had a similar kind of bustling atmosphere. 'Downtown' was the center of business and shopping in those days. Early morning streets were filled with businessmen heading to offices in suits and ties, usually toting leather briefcases. Women clicked along sidewalks in high heels, wearing skirts or dresses (never pants; oh heavens no), most likely to work in one of the tall buildings. 

I took it all for granted. Rushing people, blaring horns, blinking lights, the swoosh of tires through rain or snow, lines of buses at every corner - these were not urban life to me. They were simply... life.

First stop every school day was the church, for our days began with Mass. I would open one of the tall, heavy old doors and slip into a world apart. The Sisters didn't have to tell us to be quiet; the church itself did that. To speak above a whisper would have been to violate an ancient hush. I did not have to think such a thought to know it. I was entering a vestibule of heaven.

City sounds could still be heard, but as though far off in the distance. In here, no one rushed. In here were no fumes, no traffic lights, no conversations. Just incense and beeswax, a flickering of candles, the soft hum of Latin from the altar. It was a place apart.

Only in the last few days have I realized: my early experience of going from world into 'place apart' was a perfect preparation for having a cloistered heart. The church building, which (thank God) is still there, has been set apart as a place where Jesus can be loved and worshiped in the midst of the world. In the middle of what is now considered 'inner city,' it is a dedicated, consecrated, holy space.

And no matter what goes on around, Jesus Himself dwells within.  

'The Indwelling in me of the Holy Spirit implies that like the Church, the Altar, the Tabernacle, I am consecrated to be the temple, the house, the home of God Himself... My body is the Spirit's chosen dwelling place, a privileged altar.... Gladly I accept this great vocation, this high honour, this immeasurable dignity, to be Your temple, Your altar, Your house, Your home. (from "Listening to the Indwelling Presence," compiled by a Religious, Pellegrini, Australia, 1940) 


Text not in quotes © Nancy Shuman
 thecloisteredheart.org

Revisiting The First Bell

When I was twenty, I had what I now think of as a 'cloistered heart foreshadowing.'  In itself this was a startling occurrence, for my level of interest in monasteries at the time was zero. I was an active, single, compulsively busy young woman, and religious life was possibly the farthest thing from my mind.

I was taking a semester off college and working for an insurance company. Our office was located on an upper floor of a building in the center of town. One day, as I bustled about filing papers, I happened to look out through a large wall of windows. My view went over the tops of shorter buildings across Main Street, to an old church a block away.

The church, with its weathered gray stones and one large round window, made me think of a monastery. Without warning, I suddenly envisioned rows of black-habited figures walking through a kind of 'enclosed garden' in the middle of that building. There was no such garden in this church. Yet I had a sudden mental picture of black-habited figures walking along silently.

My sense was that this was a place of prayer right in the middle of the bustling, busy, noisy city.  It was as if the garden inside high walls was not known to anyone scurrying by outside, and although those inside could hear noise all around, they were largely unaffected by it.

Never mind that buses rumbled, tires screeched, horns blared. Inside the walls, hidden from the view of people rushing by, there was a secret place of prayer. Even now I can picture the silent figures I 'envisioned' there, with a soft autumn wind teasing the edges of their veils.

This mental picture was suddenly there and suddenly gone, leaving in its wake a thought most unexpected. This was:  'I’ll probably belong to God someday.' The belonging would be, I felt, as total as the belonging of a nun. I remember going on with my work in the office as though this unusual scene had not crossed my mind… but I never, ever forgot it.

I now look back and realize that the sense of people in an enclosed garden, right in the middle of a busy city, captures exactly the essence of 'the cloistered heart.'  Mine is not the call to withdrawal into a silent hermitage. Mine is a call to interact with the world and live in the midst of it. To be in the world while not being of it. 

Mine is a call to be a 'place' where Christ can be adored, met with, and honored - no matter where I happen to be.

This is a slightly edited repost from 2011. 

Text not in quotes © Nancy Shuman
thecloisteredheart.org


Painting: Ferdinand Wagner
Photo of street via Pixabay

Not Meant To Fly

'True holiness does not mean a flight from the world; rather, it lies in the effort to incarnate the Gospel in everyday life, in the family, at school and at work, and in social and political involvement.' St. John Paul II

Photos from Pixabay

The Path In Between

A recent comment helped me realize something important.

I occasionally put two pictures on a post. One may be of a church or monastery, the other might have a scene of life 'out in the world.' Examples of what I mean can be found here and here and here.

Between these pictures of church and world is usually a quote, something making the point that we can adore Our Lord right where we are. Right in the midst of rush hour traffic. In a busy office or grocery. While wiping a table as we bounce Baby on our hip. We are not meant to disconnect from God while we're going about our daily round of duties. We're meant to connect with God through focused prayer as much as we can, and to maintain that connection IN our daily round of duties.

An illustration of this was shared with me some years ago, by a Sister who had read an article on The Cloistered Heart. In a letter to me, Sister wrote:

'Parallel to your vocation as a truly committed Christian, one called to a cloistered heart: I am called to the physical enclosure in which vowed life, community life, and apostolic ministry are but heading in the same direction as you. I like to refer to our prayer life as a cave. We need to enter that cave daily, often, regularly, despite any discomfort or darkness....  We are in this cave to find God - His presence - filling our soul with strength, light, courage, conviction... Staying in union with Him!  Only then can we go out into the marketplace, our apostolate. As an RN, I have certainly realized how the professional life tends to pull me away from the cave into dis-equilibrium.

'It is the path in between where we meet our Lord so often. That path... cloistered heart. It's the path in between that must be worn out. This path in between is where I relate.'

The path in between, I now realize, is what I try to 'illustrate' when I place a picture of a quiet church next to a photo of a bustling city. I like to see connections. I like to be struck by contrasts. For the truth is:  I live in the contrasts. Quiet/noise... contemplation/busyness... serenity/chaos... 

I expect to be writing more about this in future days. The path in between, after all, is where I live.




Painting: Carl Friedrich Lessing 
Text not in quotes © N Shuman
thecloisteredheart.org  

In Church or in The Street

                'When I eat or drink, move or stand still, 
                speak or keep silent, sleep or wake, see, hear, or think; 
                whether I am in church, at home, or in the street, 
                in bad health or good, dying or not dying, 
                at every hour and moment of my life 
                I wish all to be in God.'

                St. Catherine of Genoa 

Images on this post are public domain via Pixabay