A Long-Lost Friend

Imagine three situations:

First, you walk into a house and sit down.  You’re there, alone, and time passes, and you start to wonder.  Why am I here?  Is there something I’m supposed to be doing?  Why did I come here anyway?

Second, you enter the same place, only this time someone else enters and sits next to you.  He kind of looks familiar, but you can’t place him.  In embarrassment you begin to look at the magazine on the coffee table, or take out your cell phone, anything to avoid eye contact, and feeling stupid.

Third, you enter the same place, only this time the person enters and sits next to you, looks at you and says: “Tom?  You came to visit me here?  Well, I’m so glad to see you again.”  You look at him, confused as in the second scenario, but you stammer a response: “Um, good to see you again, too.”  And he perceives your discomfort.  “Remember us when we went to school together in the old neighborhood.  You lived in the nice brick house and I lived in the shack at the end of the block.  You used to wait for me, so we could walk to school together.  Remember Jack, the kid with the shaved head, and how we used to pour water on him, and Melanie who always had to wear that big bow her mom made her wear in her hair?”  And suddenly the light goes on: “Harry!  It’s great to see you again.  Is this your house?  Remember when we used to …”  And you proceed to have a great time, a fun conversation with a long-lost friend.

But what if Harry were there in all three of those scenarios, but to your detriment you didn’t notice him until He spoke up; you didn’t recall who he was, a long-lost friend?

I arrived at the chapel for my midnight adoration last Saturday night.  As I gathered my prayer materials from the back seat of my car, I heard someone approach.  Looking up, I saw a young man, perhaps 16 or 17 years old.  “Excuse me,” he said.  (I have to be honest, my initial thought was “Oh no!  A beggar at midnight?”)  And then he held out his hand and said: “My name is Jake.”  I shook his hand and said “I’m Tom.”  He went on: “I’d like to go into this chapel.  Is there any code I use to get in?  Are there any special rules I should know?”  I explained that there was a passcode for late night, but usually it wasn’t set, the chapel was open.  As for rules, no rules except consideration that others are praying, so quiet.  Outside of that all are welcome.  “My friend and I would like to visit.”  Follow me, I said, and as I went in he and his equally young female friend followed.

I knelt down for a moment; they knelt down for a moment.  I sat in a pew; they sat in a pew.  And as I began to silently pray my opening rosary prayers, I noticed they glanced at various materials in the pew in front of them, then they sat quietly for a while.  After about 5 minutes, they left.  It was my perception that they felt uncomfortable in the quiet; they didn’t know what to do; they weren’t aware of God in the room (scenario 1), or they didn’t know what to say to Him (scenario 2).  They didn’t recognize the truth of the matter that it was really scenario 3, and a long-lost friend yearned to talk with them, but they couldn’t hear Him.

And I felt a little sad, for Him, and for them.

I don’t know if the young people were Catholic, Protestant, or atheist, but they apparently had felt some urge, a call of the Holy Spirit, to visit God’s house at the end of their date.  Maybe my perceptions of their experience there were wrong, and perhaps they felt something during that short time and will be back.  Regardless, I felt sad that they seemed not to have a relationship with Jesus; they didn’t know how to begin a conversation with Him.  They didn’t perceive how much He loved them.

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How Profound Is Your Love

What do I love when I love Thee, my God?
Is it truth, is it goodness, is it Beauty’s grace?
Far more than these do I hold when I hold Thee,
As first in my heart, Lord before all things.

O, how profound is Your love, Your steadfast love,
that swells my heart, and lifts my soul,
until my hands reach wide, my heart runs deep,
for Your love overflows.

There is a joy beyond all joy we’ve known.
There is life so much deeper than life’s furthest shores.
And there is Love, we forever will fathom,
yet never will fathom forever, Amen!

O, how profound is Your love, Your steadfast love,
that swells my heart, and lifts my soul,
until my hands reach wide, my heart runs deep,
for Your love overflows.

When we arise and You open our eyes,
we shall see, shall behold Thee, shall be held by Love.
Then we shall know what our hearts knew in secret:
We have never been home, and now we’ve come home!

O, how profound is Your love, Your steadfast love,
that swells my heart, and lifts my soul,
until my hands reach wide, my heart runs deep,
for Your love overflows.

c2005, The Servants of the Word, Ann Arbor, MI