From Solitude to Serenity: A Moment of Prayer in an Old Church

I visited a church, and I was alone inside it, but there were people outside. It’s an old church, and I wonder how this structure has withstood the wrath of nature through the years.* The main door was closed, but the side doors were open. I entered the church through one of these open doors. Having access, I took the opportunity to sit, pray, and silently converse with God.

As I sat there in the quiet embrace of the church, I couldn't help but be drawn into the history that surrounded me. The wooden pews bore the marks of countless visitors who had sought solace and guidance within these walls. The stained glass windows, though slightly faded with time, still radiated a kaleidoscope of colors as the sunlight filtered through, casting dancing hues upon the floor.

Outside, I knew there were people going about their daily lives, unaware of the sanctuary I had found within these sacred walls. I closed my eyes and allowed the stillness of the moment to envelop me completely. It was a rare opportunity to escape the hustle and bustle of the world outside and connect with something greater.

As I opened my eyes once more, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the chance to be here, in this moment, in this place. Gratitude for the people who had built and maintained this haven of peace over the years. And gratitude for the simple act of being able to sit, reflect, and find solace in the company of my thoughts and prayers.

With a renewed sense of tranquility, I eventually rose from the pew and made my way back to the side door. As I stepped out into the bustling world once more, I carried with me the serenity I had found inside, a reminder that amidst the chaos of life, there are places of stillness and connection waiting to be discovered.

What was my prayer? How can I describe it? Ah, like the Canaanite woman, I asked the Lord for help. I did not pray the rosary, or even the Lord’s Prayer. My prayer was not just a mere recitation of words, but a heartfelt conversation with God. I echoed the words of the Canaanite woman from the Gospel, recognizing that even in my own struggles and uncertainties, I too was reaching out to the source of healing and guidance.

I found myself drawn to the story of the Canaanite woman who had approached Jesus, imploring Him to heal her daughter. Despite the initial response that seemed distant, the woman persisted, her faith unwavering. She acknowledged her position and, in humility, told Jesus, "Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master's table." It was a plea that revealed both her desperation and her deep trust in His mercy.

And so, like her, I too came to God with my vulnerabilities laid bare. I spoke of my fears, my doubts, and my hopes. I asked for strength to navigate the challenges that lay ahead, for wisdom to discern the right path, and for the grace to carry on with resilience. Just as the Canaanite woman recognized her need for divine intervention, I too acknowledged my own need for guidance beyond my own understanding.

As I sat there, pouring out my heart in the quiet sanctuary, I felt a sense of reassurance wash over me. It was as if the walls of the church itself held the echoes of countless prayers that had been uttered within these sacred confines, a testament to the power of seeking solace and support from a higher source. Actually, God was silent as I cried in tears. I console myself that He was silent because He listened to me with mercy. I was tormented by my demons and I searched for healing.

I left the church with a lighter heart, knowing that my prayer, like that of the Canaanite woman, had been heard. Whether in the words I spoke or the feelings I carried, I had taken a step towards a deeper connection with the Divine, a connection that transcended the barriers of time and space.

Walking back into the world outside, I carried with me the lessons of that quiet moment in the church. Just as the Canaanite woman's persistence led to the healing of her daughter, my own willingness to open up and seek guidance could pave the way for the healing of my own spirit. And so, with renewed hope, I continued my journey, grateful for the timeless wisdom found within the walls of that old, resilient church. Notes: *It reminds me of what Jesus said to Peter: "I will build my church" that "the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it." I smiled reminding myself that Jesus did not refer to the building but to the people of God, not religion but faith. Jesus' mission was the kingdom of God, as good news to the poor, and the institutional church is not the kingdom of God. I will explore this theme in my Gospel reflection for this coming Sunday.

** I did not get a photo of the church. The attached photo of the old church is from the internet.