Dear St. Theresa family,
I am finishing a book on how to be a domestic church and recalled the bedtime prayers of my childhood. “Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless this bed that I lie on.” Little aware was I that the evangelists, abruptly summoned from rapture, dash wildly to earth for bed blessing. On the way they dodge flights of angels and assorted saints. Between the hours of eight and nine at night, when the children say their prayers, Christianity is an extremely hectic religion.
The medieval philosophers have suffered considerable snide criticism for wasting their time estimating how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. The climate of modern thought does not support the spectacle of any angels whatever, let alone merry ones dancing. Yet there they are on a hot Texas night, roosting on bedposts in a cluttered room with gangs of saints, taking notes:
“Please find Slinkey my pet turtle and my Matchbox Chevy convertible…
That’s an easy one. St. Anthony go find that turtle and toy car.
“Bless all the firemen at the fire-station.”
Ok, that’s Florian…Go surround our fire fighters.
“Bless our country…”
Where are we? Oh, anybody here got the United States? Yes, all of it. Powers, Thrones, Dominions, you take the US …and good luck.
“Bless our house…”
Houses…houses…Joseph! That’s you. Take the house like a good fellow and do something about that garage door.
“And bless Mommy and Daddy.”
Silence.
The archangels shrink from parenthood. They stare appraisingly at the saints who shuffle,
sneeze, and shrug their shoulders checking each other’s shoulders for lint.
Hilary? Charles? Cosmas or Damian?
Pass.
How about you Francis? You were always attracted to martyrdom.
“I’ve got sharks this week.”
You take them.
But it’s only two people this time, a man and a woman, happily married, too. Fear not.
Ha! That’s what they all say.
Now, who had Mommy and Daddy last time? Nobody since Christopher - and rumor has it he has been demoted to Mr. Christopher - lost his feast day over it.
I’m not going to take them. Something always happens. Every night the same ole thing.
How about God the Father? (wild applause.) Well done, Thomas Aquinas! That settles it. Mothers and Fathers to God Almighty. Lights out. A child falls asleep, clutching a wet matchbox car St. Anthony found in the vaporizer.
For many families, the major time of praying together comes at bedtime, when children “say their prayers” and parents listen. But how many parents then “say their prayers?” Most are so busy there is little time for prayer or study; it simply isn’t a priority among most Christians these days. But if we are to be in the presence of God’s new future, we must be filled with his loving Spirit. And that is an event and process that can happen only as we draw close to God in prayer. Only as we realize our own barrenness and turn to God for life is there any possibility of his kingdom seeds growing within us.
Whole life discipleship begins by giving priority to prayer, study and even a retreat. It begins by finding our confident center in the living God. The inner journey has come to mean so many different things these days. For some, it means five minutes of rushed devotions before work. For others it may be little else than furtive pleadings when a lot of push has come to a lot of shove. It cannot be that way with us.
Remember that our lives of spirituality begin with encounter. The Eucharist, the Word, as we encounter him in the quiet places of listening where graced moments of clarity fill our minds and hearts.
The Church begins at home and with prayer.
How is it in your home?
Grace and peace,
Fr. Larry