By Maria Sermersheim, Meditatione Ignis
One blessing of being Catholic is that wherever in the world you travel, you can (almost) never be far from home. This summer, I report to you all from Germany, where I have traveled to learn the language, again for my theological studies. On two occasions, I found myself feeling very much at home despite the great distance—because fundamentally, my home is the Church.
The first Sunday here, I accidentally went to a Croatian Mass. For the first minutes, I was worried that I knew German far, far worse than I realized…! Then, I remembered reading that there was a Croatian community at the parish, and I no longer feared my linguistic ignorance. Knowing the Mass, even though it was in an entirely foreign language that I could not understand at all, I still felt quite comfortable and able to pray; and when every person in the pews around me very warmly shared the sign of peace with me, I felt entirely at home. The peace of Christ surmounts all barriers, linguistic and otherwise, if we allow Him to be our source of unity. I was welcome, I belonged, I could pray the same prayer (albeit in a different language), and I could share the peace of Christ in his Church.
A couple of weeks later, the institute where I am studying took a day trip to Strasbourg, and I visited the famous cathedral there with a couple of Christian but not Catholic classmates. One classmate commented that he was intrigued by the difference between the ways in which we interacted with the cathedral; while I had a sense of “coming home,” he was more aware that he was a tourist. I had not realized so explicitly before that I do feel that cathedrals (and all other Catholic churches) belong to me, and I to them, because the Church is my true home. All the grandeur and magnificence of the cathedrals which interests tourists does also interest me, but I admire the art and architecture in a different way; it is not there merely as a museum-piece, but it is there to support my life and prayer. It is there for me.
St. Therese of Lisieux is known for her quote, “The world is your ship, not your home.” She refers to heaven as the home for which we long, so it makes perfect sense that any space of Catholic prayer around the world should make me feel at home—it is a space linked with heaven, with our common hope and the communion of saints. I pray that wherever you each may find yourselves this summer—whether traveling geographical seas or merely the metaphorical seas of life—you find respite in the Church, our taste of heaven and home on earth.