In places where the desolation of ruined churches does not yet prevail, where the church is still a house that welcomes the visitor with a warming fire, where Jesus is still in the tabernacle, the expectation of all our grief, the acceptance of all our tears, in places where the churches are not yet closed, where we can enter into the space that breathes silence and bow before him who mysteriously dwells therein: this can become a moment of intense experience in which someone who is mourning is in fact comforted and our churches are once again that sublime refuge of the blessedness of tears that have been consoled. Yet in order for that to happen, we must do everything possible to keep them open, so that we can entrust our sufferings to him, Jesus, who is really present there. And what happens is to pour out tears in his presence; to encounter him whose glance so unsettled Peter after he had denied him! The tears of Peter, elicited by the unspeakable acceptance in Jesus’ glance – therein lies, does it not, the happiness that Jesus promised!
19 November 2011
Blessed are those who mourn?
Passages such as this from his Happiness, God, and Man are why I enjoy reading the books of Christoph Cardinal Schonborn, Archbishop of Vienna: