In the sacristy of the parish I attended as a teenager was a sign. It read: “Silentium!” I didn’t need to know much Latin to figure out the message. As altar servers, we were expected to speak in whispered tones and then only when necessary. Dropping things or slamming doors was frowned upon. And, as if that wasn’t enough, prior to Mass, the pastor would be at his prie-dieu either saying the rosary or praying the Divine Office. Even as rambunctious teenagers, we tried our best to keep the decibel levels to a minimum.
I thought of that on a recent Sunday during this pandemic as I ambled around the very large and empty Cathedral of Mary Our Queen. How different, I thought, than most Sundays, when the sacristy is bustling with activity and people are gathering for Mass. But not during the pandemic. No one was there. It was utterly quiet and silent. And the silence drew me to the Blessed Lady Chapel where I sat, wordlessly, before the tabernacle. It was a graced moment when the Lord’s heart spoke to mine.
While sitting there, I was reminded that, while the cathedral was empty, the church itself was still very much alive. The scene had shifted from that magnificent structure adorned with striking bas reliefs and mosaics to the “domestic church” – to our Christian homes and families.
These days our “domestic churches” are bustling with activity. Sunday Mass, the rosary, Eucharistic adoration and spiritual messages come into the home by livestreaming or other electronic means. Often, mom and dad are working from home. Children are taking online classes. For once, everyone is home – almost all the time. Parents find themselves multitasking and their children find that their usual outlets – such as sports – are temporarily out of the question. More often than not, the TV is on or one of those essential electronic devices is in use.
Some parents have spoken or written to me about the stress and anxiety such “togetherness” has produced. One wife and mother wrote to say that, while it’s good and well to talk about the domestic church, she had had her fill of it. “It’s wearing me out and making me nervous,” she admitted.
Another took me to task for painting an overly idealistic picture of the domestic church. “It’s fine for you to speak about the family as a place of faith and safety and respect for life” or to talk “about the role parents have in sharing the faith with their kids. But you don’t live with them like I do!” Fair enough.
This pandemic has caused us to take stock in the value of the home as the domestic church. It truly is a sanctuary of life and love that shares in the life and love of three Divine Persons of the Trinity; a place of prayer where the faith is shared and passed on from one generation to another; a place where virtues and values are formed; and where the call of God, one’s vocation, can begin to be discerned – all that and more.
One important tip that may help families really be or become “domestic churches” is silence.
For a parish church to be a place of prayer, there have to be times of silence. For a domestic church to be a place of prayer and formation, there also needs to be periods of silence, times when everything is unplugged, times when all the members of the family can “hear themselves think,” as the saying goes. This is not only easier on the nerves, it is also good for the soul.
But not just any kind of silence. Guinean Cardinal Robert Sarah has written that “silence leads to God provided that we stop looking at ourselves. … We must be turned toward God and others.” It is only when we quiet down and invite God into the inmost temple of our hearts that we have the spiritual wherewithal to shepherd a domestic church.
“Silentium!” read that old sign in the sacristy. Its message is timelier than ever!
