Nativity Catholic Church
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A Little Safe Haven
A "FIRESTARTER" Spiritual Essay by Rev.
Dr. Benjamin
Berinti, C.Pp.S.
“Mommy, daddy, what’s heaven like?’ queried the bright-eyed little girl. “Well, it’s like….” Indeed, what would be our answer? I suppose that each of us will put a different spin on that answer depending upon when the question is asked, where it is asked, and how we happen to be managing life at the time it is asked. “Heaven” becomes that great catch basin for all the hopes and dreams, troubles and ills, broken and shattered promises that flow out of individual lives. As people of Christian faith, of course, we give our nod to the fact that “heaven” is “being with God”—but beyond this, we add a lot of extra padding to the answer. Quite often, I have amusingly dreamt that “heaven” is feasting on an unending supply of Dungeness crab, or never having to worry about paying the price for a mistake made or feelings hurt, or perhaps never losing the intense joy I experienced the day I was ordained a priest. Mostly in my musing about heaven, I imagine a tiny little cottage nestled on a wonderful, sun-drenched, palm-tree-lined beach, with the constant, soothing caress of gentle trade winds rustling the branches and moving the waters. Every time I see such a place while strolling along a beach, or driving through some coastal town, I let loose a satisfying sigh…and begin seeing angels in grass skirts and flower leis, striking their steel drums with mallets (rather than plucking their harps), and all the heavenly gang just humming a tune that says, “Don’t worry…we’re happy!” There’s something about a little safe haven, a tiny niche away from it all that many of us long for. Despite the size and complexity of many of our needs in life, when it comes right down to it, most of us would be pleased to have something small, something manageable, something quaint, rather than something huge, unwieldy, and ostentatious. Quite often, while making my way to downtown Winter Park, along the shaded, brick-covered Park Avenue, I am overwhelmed by the size of the homes! I wonder what people really do with such monstrosities, and how they manage to actually live in them. I suppose, much like the ancient castles of Europe, people merely occupy only a portion of their rambling mansions, really making their “home” in some tiny corner of all that mind-numbing square footage! Something like the scene in a movie, where the Lord or Lady of the castle says, “Oh, we haven’t been in that part of the house since last century!” Seems that at root, we are happy and content with “cottages” more than castles. Our little bits of “heaven” are more often the size of a mustard seed than a great, towering redwood tree. We find comfort in small places, in remote corners, in little niches where we can be close enough to touch the gifts that God gives us, whether they are the sights and sounds of life, or the special people that pass our way. Too much room…and we get lost…frightened…distracted…unnerved. Perhaps, when it comes to our gathering as “Church,” we often feel the strain of something too big, too rambling, and too overwhelming. We may long for the Church as “cottage” rather than Church as cathedral; Church as “table fellowship” rather than grand movements in and out of a gilded sanctuary; Church as a “home” rather than a museum or required class. Jim Tolpin, the author of a wonderful little book called The New Cottage Home, wrote this: “If you ask a child to draw a house, she’s not likely to produce a sprawling villa or towering mansion. Instead, she’ll give you a single-gable, one-story box framed by a tree, a profusion of wildflowers, and a white picket fence. In other words, a cottage. It seems we like our walls and corners close by.” If we were asked to “draw a Church,” I’m sure things wouldn’t be much different—people gathered together, as family, around a simple table, sharing and laughing, telling family stories, and eating and drinking the simplest, heartiest food—remaining close enough to truly be communion as the Body of Christ and not to merely be taking or receiving communion. The Acts of the Apostles describes “the Church” as people simply committed to sharing the story, offering the prayers, breaking the bread and living what they have shared—“Church” as cottage, in my mind, rather than cathedral. There is so much “largeness” that surrounds us, pressures us, makes us feel inadequate, seduces us—no wonder we long for little pieces of heaven, for the “close by walls and corners”. Indeed, the Church may seem so expansive at times that we get lost and frustrated, but in the end, “Church” is really table fellowship that inspires us to service in the name of Jesus Christ. To truly be “Church,” we must continually find and create small spaces in order to rest in, as Jim Tolpin says, “a snug haven from the dangers and uncertainties of a too-big-world.”
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