As Marsha and I enter the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, I dip my finger into the warm water of the baptismal font and make the sign of the cross on my forehead.
“Remember your baptism, and be thankful,” I silently say to myself as if on cue and by rote.
I feel hypocritical but want to feel something spiritual. Then I step into the expanse of the Basilica and marvel at what millions of dollars and tons of gold can do. Father Sorin was promised an altar flowing with gold. I think he got much more than an altar’s worth. Looks to me like 23-karat gold leaf outweighs paint in this place.
We slip into a back row and forego the kneeling in preparation for Mass. It’s quiet, except for the creaking of wooden pews. Neither of us has attended a worship service of any kind in more than a year. I scan the bulletin for something familiar, perhaps a hymn or scripture passage. My eye catches these words, which cause my heart to sink to my stomach,
Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities. And by his stripes we are healed.6
They are the words of the communion anthem for this fourth Sunday in Lent, and they are from the scripture passage that summarizes my own descent into hell when I ripped my arms open to feel the physical pain of the psychological torment I was enduring years ago.
Sitting here, in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on the campus of the University of Notre Dame on March 22, 2009, ushers in a flood of memories and trudges up old feelings. I want to run from that place. I want to rest in this place. I don’t want the profanity of my past to spoil the sacredness of this moment.
Before I can descend further, I am shaken from my reverie by the sound of the massive pipe organ as it fills the space—interceding to raise me up. The regal procession files by—altar boys, liturgists, priests—incense wafting like Pigpen’s aura, and I fumble for my Treo to capture the sound and sight of this holy parade.
I think to myself,
Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence; and take not your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation; and sustain in me a willing spirit.7
6Isaiah 53:4-5.
7Psalm 51:10-12.
Captions and Credits:
(Top) Plaque outside the entrance to the Basilica. (Middle) Golden arches and ceiling of the Basilica. (Bottom) Chalk drawing by the author.