By JAMES MONTI
There is nothing quite like stepping “out of the world” and into a quiet Catholic church on a summer afternoon to find ourselves, or rather, lose ourselves in the intimate presence of our Lord. As we gaze upon Him in His sanctuary, our eyes coming to a rest upon the gold-plated door of the tabernacle, the silence round about us, punctuated only by the faint twitter of birds, gradually calms all the “noise” in our souls, and we begin to hear what the Lord has to say to us.
The red flicker of the vigil lamp, the interplay of sunlight and shadows across the sanctuary, and the scent of a summer breeze entering through the open windows all invite us to linger there, to stay with Him for a while longer.
Of course not all Catholic churches lend themselves well to the rather idyllic scene I have described above, but the fact that there are so many churches that do is to be credited in large part to a 16th-century Italian bishop that most Catholics have never even heard of, Gianmatteo Giberti (1495-1543).
After having served in Rome as a close and trusted assistant of Pope Clement VII (1523-1534), Bishop Giberti embarked upon a vast program of reform in his Diocese of Verona, where clerical corruption and negligence had been rampant and the upkeep of churches had degenerated to the point that “they looked like stables” (Ludwig Von Pastor, The History of the Popes From the Close of the Middle Ages, B. Herder 1914, volume 10, p. 428).
Undertaking a series of apostolic visits to parishes across his diocese, he made it his habit when first arriving at a church to seek out where and how the Blessed Sacrament was kept. All too often finding the Holy Eucharist dishonorably tucked away in some obscure corner, “he ordered that a tabernacle be made and placed on the high altar as in the other churches” (Alexander Nagel, The Controversy of Renaissance Art, University of Chicago Press, 2011, p. 239).
In 1542 Bishop Giberti compiled and published a collection of ecclesiastical decrees for his diocese, the Constitutiones, which received the approval of Pope Paul III (1534-1549). In this important work that considerably influenced the Council of Trent and St. Charles Borromeo, the bishop not only stipulates the reservation of the Blessed Sacrament in a “beautiful” tabernacle on the high altar (“set upon the high altar…thus that the Eucharist may be in a preeminent place” — Constitutiones . . . Matthaeum Gibertum, Verona, 1542, title 5, chapter 2, fol. 30r-30v), but also describes in scripturally inspired terms the reason for situating the Holy Eucharist as the focal point of the sanctuary:
“And just like the eyes of a maidservant upon the hands of her mistress (Psalm 123:2), so should the eyes of those standing round about the table of the Lord take heed of and study the Sacrament, sublime and precious above all, visible there upon the high altar, rejoicing in it, weeping, and in weeping devoutly rejoicing, that the Lord is kind. . . .” (Constitutiones, title 2, chapter 6, fol. 7v).
The 1614 Rituale Romanum directed that the tabernacle should be placed on the high altar or in some other visually prominent location. An unfortunately worded rubric in the 1970 Missale Romanum that led to so many churches moving the Blessed Sacrament away from the altar and the center of the sanctuary was most happily revised in the 2002 Missale Romanum to encourage the return of the tabernacle to its rightful place of prominence.
Many of our readers will recall the good news at the beginning of this year that His Excellency Bishop Robert Morlino of Madison, Wis., has instructed all the parishes in his diocese to move their tabernacles back to the center of the sanctuary (if the tabernacle is not there already) by 2018.
A Catholic church is unlike any other place on earth, for it is the dwelling place of God on earth. Blessed John Henry Newman (1801-1890) said this most famously toward the end of his novel, Loss and Gain: The Story of a Convert. Describing the character Charles Reding’s climactic visit to the church of a Passionist monastery, Newman movingly tells of Reding’s sudden perception of what the Real Presence means:
“A priest, or at least an assistant, had mounted for a moment above the altar, and removed a chalice or vessel which stood there; he could not see distinctly. A cloud of incense was rising on high; the people suddenly all bowed low; what could it mean? The truth flashed on him, fearfully yet sweetly; it was the Blessed Sacrament — it was the Lord Incarnate who was on the altar, who had come to visit and to bless His people. It was the Great Presence, which makes a Catholic church different from every other place in the world; which makes it as no other place can be, holy” (Newman, Loss and Gain, 1854 edition, p. 250).
Whether we know it or not, whether we acknowledge it or not, our Lord is involved in our lives down to the very least detail. And so by remaining with us in the Blessed Sacrament He has fixed His abode just minutes away from ours. His very presence is in itself an invitation, even as His walk along the Sea of Galilee was an invitation to the fishermen Simon Peter and his brother Andrew, John and his brother James.
Faithful And True
In her collection of reflections for visiting the Blessed Sacrament Coram Sanctissimo (“Before the Most Holy”), the English nun and author Mother Mary Loyola (1845-1930) casts into words this unspoken invitation that our Lord makes to us all:
“To each one of us He says from the tabernacle: ‘Stay you here, and watch with Me….Could you not watch one hour with Me?’ Or if not one hour, one quarter?
“Stay with Me because I am going to offer My morning sacrifice, and men are too busy to assist at the oblation of Myself for them.
“Stay with Me for a few moments at midday, when the glare of the world and its rush and its din are fiercest. Turn off the crowded pavement into the quiet church, ‘Come apart . . . and rest a little.’
“Stay with Me because it is towards evening and the day is now far spent. There will be no more visitors for Me today, none through the long hours of the night. Stay with Me because it is towards evening” (Mother Loyola, Coram Sanctissimo, Sands and Co., 1904 edition, pp. 19-20).
Mother Loyola also stresses that our Lord wants us while visiting Him to share with Him whatever may be troubling or worrying us. Citing the biblical example of King Hezekiah of Judah, who upon receiving a threatening letter from his adversary Sennacherib “went up to the house of the Lord, and spread it before the Lord” (Isaiah 37:14-20), she observes, “why may not we carry our good news and our bad before the pitying human Heart of Christ. . .?” (ibid., p. 24).
She urges us to confide unreservedly in our Lord in the Most Blessed Sacrament, because His love and His concern for us incomparably surpass that of any earthly friend:
“He it is Whom we find waiting for us when our turn comes to pass across the short stage of life on earth. He calls us to Him, calls us by our name, one by one. He bids us take Him to our hearts as the nearest and dearest of our friends, Who alone can stand by us when all others fail. He bids us cultivate His friendship, and try it and prove it. And He promises that we shall find Him what all have found Him who have put their trust in Him — what Martha and Mary, and Paul and Bernard, and Teresa and Margaret Mary have found Him — the ‘Faithful and True,’ ‘Jesus Christ yesterday, and today; and the same forever’” (ibid., pp. 28-29).
We may leave the church feeling unchanged, that our questions haven’t yet been answered, our troubles and fears left unresolved. But soon enough, whether in the hours to come or the days to follow, we will find that God has left manna like hoarfrost on the meadow of our souls. So whenever the opportunity presents itself, don’t miss the chance to spend some quality time with God in a church near at hand.
For as the Irish maiden Venerable Edel Mary Quinn (1907-1944) said so well, “If we knew we could find Him anywhere on earth, we would try to go there. We have Him, every free moment, on the altar. Be with Him there” (quoted in Fr. Desmond Forristal, Edel Quinn, 1907-1944, Dominican Publications, 1994, p. 212).
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