And a Child Shall Lead Me

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My favorite part of Holy Thursday comes at the end of Mass. At the Cathedral of the Madeleine, the bishop reposes the Blessed Sacrament in the tabernacle, then all the ministers depart in silence. Most of the crowd leaves, too. Those who remain are intent on prayer. The cathedral lights dim to a mere glimmer, the stillness is broken only by the rustle of people moving as quietly as possible, and the entire atmosphere is one of hushed reverence rarely found in today’s world.

Into that scenario this year as I sat in prayer near the tabernacle came two women with a couple of young children. I noticed them only because I happened to look up as they entered the space. My first reaction was amazement that the children were so reverential; they’d already sat through a long Mass, but they were as respectful as any of the adults – no fidgeting, no whispering. They remained for several minutes in prayer, and as they left the little boy whispered, “Bye-bye, Jesus.”

His loving farewell made me smile, until my critical mind kicked in and I groaned at the slipshod theology. Yes, Jesus was present in the Host reposed in the tabernacle, but he also accompanied the boy and his mother out of the cathedral and to their home, and was with them every moment of their lives. So it wasn’t as though the boy were leaving Jesus at the cathedral.

Of course, for a kid who looked about 4 years old to grasp that concept was probably expecting too much. I imagine his mother explained the repose of the Blessed Sacrament something like this: “Jesus is present in the Host, and the deacon put the Host in the tabernacle, where Jesus will remain until the Easter vigil, just like he stayed in the tomb after he was crucified until his Resurrection.”

With that understanding, it would be natural for a kid to whisper “bye-bye” to Jesus as he exited the cathedral; he would have said the same thing to his best friend upon leaving his house. And it was such an endearing moment that I found myself repeating his words when I walked out of the cathedral, though I reminded myself that Jesus was in fact with me even as I left the tabernacle behind.

I didn’t give any more thought to that encounter until last week, when I went to Thanksgiving Point. There at the Fragrance Garden I was enjoying the blossoms when a young family came through, and the father said, “Let’s find some smelly things!”

The image that came to my mind was of decaying fish, not spring flowers, but then I realized that the kids had probably asked what “fragrance” meant, and “smelly” was the synonym that came to the dad’s mind.

Today I told these two stories to a friend, and she said she thinks God is like the two parents: He has perfect communication but our limited minds are unable to understand except in imperfect terms. For example, the ramifications of his omnipresence far exceed our comprehension. We can say that he is with us “until the end of the age,” but even saints while they are living don’t experience his presence except perhaps in fleeting moments. As for our inability to grasp his terminology, all we have to do is consider the Trinity. The Triune God is a central doctrine of our faith; we say that the Godhead is the unity of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. God has one nature, there are two processions, three persons and four relations.

We put words to all this, but not even the greatest theological minds completely comprehend it; St. Augustine is a prime example. 

I gave up trying to understand the Trinity years ago. Currently I am struggling to make my way through Meister Eckhart. His  Latin Works made me quail; they’re academic pieces that read too much like Aquinas, but I thought I’d appreciate his German Works, which are homilies and other less theological writings.

That was my supposition, anyway, but reading his words I  too often feel as though my comprehension is on the “smelly” level rather than the “fragrance” level, and I’m tempted to whisper “bye-bye, Jesus” as I close the book, despairing of ever advancing my theological understanding.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.