A Vision of Faith

A little girl was roaming the church waiting for her mother to finish the rosary. The set routine was always: attend Mass; wait for Mom to finish the rosary; stop off and pick up something for dinner; and get home in time to watch her favorite show.

The little girl had plenty of things to keep her busy while she waited. If the church couldn’t hold her attention, she could always bother her sisters enough to have Dad pull everyone outside to wait. That was always the “out”.

But the church itself could hold a child’s attention for hours. It was a huge building, with high ceilings, plenty of places to hide, and plenty of things to see. It was filled with huge statues, massive marble pillars, stained glass windows, intriguing Stations of the Cross positioned all around the church, wooden pews that little kids could hide under, and candles (REAL candles strategically set throughout the church) that added to the various shadows and smells of the place. Everywhere and anywhere she looked, there was something to see. She could look up to the dome, twirling herself around until all the colors merged together. She could walk along the sides of the church, running her hand over the grates under the stained glass windows, feeling the warmth of the heating system. Sometimes, when the choir loft was opened, she would climb up for a bird’s eye view of everything, trying to pick out each member of the family, as they roamed around the church.

This day she stayed grounded and concentrated on the huge crucifix at the front of the church. She knelt in front of it to get a closer look. She started from the bottom: the huge rock with all its unevenness; the wood of the cross dug into the rock; the flesh color tones of the feet nailed into the cross; the nail, itself, protruding from the feet, dried blood over the toes. She continued to look up—bony knees and hips. She was able to count the ribs and see the cut on his side.

As she kept looking up, she wondered why He let this happen. She looked at the nail in the palm, to see if it matched the one in his feet. It did. She went back to his hand and followed the arm to his face. When she got to his face, he was looking at her, with a soft and loving smile—the kind parents give as they brush the hair away from the eyes of a sleeping child.

“OK—wait a minute,” she thought to herself. She looked around to see if anyone else saw what she saw. No one was around. She rubbed her eyes and looked up again. He was still smiling down at her. She rubbed again. He was still smiling.

“What do I do now?” If she ran to find someone, the statue would return to normal. She instinctively knew that. The only other choice was to stay there in the shadow of that smile.

Suddenly the spell was broken. Voices came at her from all sides. She turned around to see that Mom had finished and it was time to go. She turned back to the statue. It had returned to normal, but she was satisfied. Her question was answered.

Why did He do it? Because He loves us.

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