An Internal Voice: A Forever Moment

The Sunday after Christmas I awoke with a deep sense of inconsolable longing that has often visited me at unexpected moments since early childhood. (I've written about this before.) C.S. Lewis referred to this longing as a desire for our own far-off country. I suspect that in your heart of hearts you have the same inconsolable longing that hurts with such primordial sweetness that it breaks your heart.

Lewis described this longing like a desire for our own past, though this description falls short. He said this longing or desire is like "the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited." (The Weight of Glory). Such was my yearning that Sunday morning.

And so I transferred from bed to wheelchair and made my way to the kitchen of my house to look out the window. There before me lay a fresh blanket of snow and a frigid Canadian December morning. Thick hoarfrost bedecked every limb of every tree in white: God's Christmas card to all who would accept it. It was magical! Nature's concert to the soul played a tribute to purity and holiness -- like a divine music box resonating across the ages -- for all who stop to listen.

An internal voice whispered to me Get dressed. Go to Mass. The Eucharist awaits. And so I drove my electric wheelchair up the Beaumont hill toward the church. A wintry fog hung low in the cold air obscuring my view of the church, except for the bell-tower that could be faintly seen rising through the white fog. That same voice whispered again, "He waits to bless you."

Inside the old red-brick church, four Advent candles flickered to announce the arrival of the Christ-child. God made man. A Nativity scene at the front of the sanctuary welcomed all. A choir sang familiar carols. The magic of the Christmas Season continued as Mass began leading us inexorably to its climax with the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist which is "the source and summit of the Christian life." In the Eucharist is Christ himself by which we unite ourselves with Him and anticipate eternal life. I basked in this union.

When Mass ended I made my way back out into the crisp, cold, clean winter air and started back down the hill to my little house at the bottom of the hill. At one point on my way home, a canopy of evergreen trees arches over the sidewalk; a slight wind shook hoarfrost from the branches which fell around me like confetti. Something of Him told me to turn around and look back up the hill. And so I did.

As hoarfrost floated to the ground around me I saw the old church at the crest of the hill, where I had just been. The church-bell began to ring. God was blessing me and filling my heart with His peace and joy. It was a forever moment. I knew I'm loved by the Author of love and life.

In his book entitled Miracles, C.S. Lewis said that the Incarnation is the central miracle asserted by Christians. God became a man. He wrote, "Every other miracle prepares for this, or exhibits this, or results from this."

Christ was among us. He remains with us even to the end of the age.

MP