at the door
June 14, 2009 § Leave a comment
For the longest time, I have been the child waiting at His door. Well, it’s considered long, since I could have used the time for play. People have told me He sees time quite differently from me hmm. Inside, the people are having a good time. By good time, it does not necessarily mean they’re delirious with joy and having great fun. Some of them may even be suffering. But still, I envy them because they are assured of the Father’s presence. They are in the house of God.
I wonder if I’m in the house of God. For even as I wait at the door, wishing to join them, I sometimes take a look around and I see many beautiful things in His garden. I see the sunsets. I smell the flowers. How beautiful, but only a glimpse of His beauty. How I wish to go in and know Him like the people in the house know Him.
I knock for a while. When I hear nothing, I get tired. I am tired easily. I know He’s there, but why won’t he answer? Will He only be present with me in the sunsets and the flowers? I want Him to talk to me clearly in a way I can understand. I don’t want Him to just give me glimpses of Him. I don’t want all this mystery, this hiddeness. I want to know what to do, where to go, and I want Him to tell me clearly, not play hide-and-seek. I am a most demanding child.
At times I stomp off, I get angry. Why so silent? I always end up feeling empty. Stomping off away from Him leads to no where.
Can I ever enter into the house of God and feel His presence once again? That was my question, even during mass. I was back at the door, the child waiting for Him to talk to me clearly in a way I can understand, to be there in a way I can feel. I’ve heard that it is Jesus who knocks at the door, but I don’t really understand that. To me, I’m the one looking for Him, not searching high and low, but searching.
As I knelt down before the cross, I thanked Him for all the glimpses of Him in my life, the picture of sunsets and flowers in my heart. Suddenly, it came to me. I realised I can be in, maybe already am in the house of God. Even if I were not, there’s always a way to return.
Because as I stared at the cross, I realised for the first time that the Eucharist was my ticket to enter His house. When Jesus died, He offered Himself as the sacrifice, the sacrifice I had to place at my Father’s door to renew my covenant with Him, to enter His house.
**In my immaturity, this is how I see it. I’m sure it’s only a one-sided glimpse of what things really are. Many have reinforced that it is Jesus knocking at my door, not the other way around. I hope further insights will come.