An Experience of Faith

As a young college student I lived in Spain for several months as an exchange student.  Being in a foreign country was an awesome learning experience for me.  This memory comes from one of my visits to a Spanish cathedral, probably in Segovia, Spain. 

The cool, dark air tinged with the scent of incense was a stark contrast to the hot, dry air of the Spanish sun.  It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark of the interior of the cathedral.  I had longed to enter here, hoping to find a connection to the saints in this holy place.  The cathedral was enormous, dark and smelled faintly of rosemary.  The air was cool and musty and only the shuffling of visitors’ feet broke the silence.

I began to walk around the space slowly looking at the statues in the various alcoves, stopping to try to interpret the stories depicted in the paintings and by the figures.   

The large brown eyes of the saints, looking up to heaven, experiencing God’s presence in their lives, haunted me. So solemn, so dark, they seemed, lit only by the lights of small votive candles left as a prayer offering.

I saw Mary, emblazoned with gold, looking at the wounds her son endured.  He was covered in deep, red blood and jeweled stones made water seem to pour from her eyes. Mary, the mother of God, the feminine face of God, came alive for me as I witnessed her mourning the loss of her son. I could see her sorrow. I could feel her sorrow.  I had a certain knowing of her sorrow then. She, who experienced the pain of motherhood way beyond what I could comprehend.

As I approached the main altar, I looked up in awe. The ceilings were so high, arched and beautiful.  The stained glass allowed in just enough colored light to cast a contrast of light and dark shadows on the crucifix.  I proceeded into the main area and took a seat on one of the hard, wooden benches.  Just as I looked up again, one thin beam of light seemed to light up Christ’s face.  His big, dark eyes were looking upwards.  He was clearly in pain and sorrow.  This was not what his humanness could endure and I was immediately struck with a thought,

“He died for ME!” 

The altar was full of flowers  and skulls and there almost seemed to be smoke rising up in the beams of light to the ceiling.  Almost like an echo, I heard singing coming through the cathedral as some monks began to chant.  It was very calming and beautiful. I sat for a few moments to ponder. Slowly a prayer formed in my head and in the beating of my heart and my slow steady breathing. I had a strong realization of the presence of Christ with me.

            “Christ died for ME!” 

I knew he was a man of sorrows, many losses, pain and death. This was the  dark story portrayed in this place.  But I also knew as I walked slowly out of the dark cathedral, that just as the bright light of the afternoon Spanish sun hit my face and I looked up towards the sky, that there was something greater than death that followed.  There was to be a resurrection to this story.  There was light, renewal, and hope.

            “Christ died for ME!

Yet He also LIVES for me!”

 "Never resign yourself to the 

Inevitable

For the inevitable is what has been buried with

 the rising of the unimaginable."

-Easter Service

Roots of Life Community

Noblesville, IN