The good folks over at Dappled Things were gracious enough to publish a piece of mine (my first for them) on their blog today. It’s a reflection on being imperfect in the Church. While I have my own particular perspective as a deacon, other imperfect people will identify, as well.
Here is an excerpt:
I remember one RCIA class during which our pastor gave us catechumens a tour of the church. He invited us to enter the sanctuary and approach the altar, where he folded back the white cloth to reveal the stone with a martyr’s relic enshrined. It felt like such an unmerited honor to be in proximity to these mysteries. I didn’t want to touch anything.
Now, a quarter-century later, I spend quite a bit of time in that sanctuary and, as an ordained deacon, routinely touch everything in it. Intimacy has a way of dispelling certain illusions. Things don’t look so polished and pristine. There is a burned spot on the rug where a piece of charcoal escaped the thurible; discolored blotches on the altar cloth left by candle wax. The hem of the linen is looking threadbare. The gold plating is wearing off the chalice, rubbed away by decades of contact with consecrated hands.
Those hands also look worse for wear. From my vantage point behind the priest, I cannot help but notice the humanity of those hands marked as they are by weathered veins and gray hairs. A worn watchband loosely hangs from a thin wrist. It looks so weak and ordinary. As those hands hold aloft the sacred host, I can’t help but notice the arthritic knuckles and smudges of ink left from signing checks and thank you notes. I shouldn’t be looking at his hands. I should keep my eyes on Jesus. But my attention, too, is weak and ordinary.
Read the whole thing at the Dappled Things Blog…