The Sacred Heart

It's funny the things that randomly pop in your mind. This afternoon I was driving, and I suddenly was reminded of an experience I had 5 years ago.

When I found out I was pregnant with Anneka, Rhonda (my best friend) and I had decided to go on a "last hurrah" trip together. I saved up, and we were off to Europe for 10 days! We hit England, Holland, and Paris.

We did a lot of walking throughout Paris, but the most significant experience for me was seeing the Sacre-Coeur Bacillica. The Sacre-Coeur (Sacred Heart) Basilica is a massive cathedral that is perched high on a hill, overlooking Paris. It was titled a basilica, because it is a "place of pilgrimage". It is completely enormous. At night, it is lit with floodlights, and the pure white marble glows in the night. You can see it from anywhere.

There are hundreds and hundreds of stairs to climb in order to reach it. It's exhausting! (Especially when you are 4 months pregnant!) We finally made it to the top, and were able to walk inside.

It took my breath away. The architecture was incredible. The ceiling was elaborately painted, and there was gold guild everywhere. A choir was singing (in Latin) and their voices were pure and perfect. All along the sides of the church were thousands of candles. Each lit with a prayer. People would come from miles to this beautiful place to light a candle and offer a prayer.

I walked silently around the church, and at one point I touched a massive marble pillar. It was so huge around...it seemed to be holding the whole place up. I put my hand on the cold cold marble, and all of a sudden, I started to cry! It was so cold to the touch, but so beautiful. Someone had made this! Someone had carved it, placed it. Years and years and years of work.(44 to be exact) I hid in a corner and began to pray. I knew this was a moment for God and me.

"God.....did they build this all for You????"

It was so beautiful. So magnificent. So beyond compare. And it was made in honour of the God I loved.

Then I heard these words:

"Yeah....they thought I would really like it....but all I really needed was a stable"

My heart stopped. Tears were streaming down my face.

I walked around the church again with new eyes. I saw the old woman, bent over with age....lighting her candle. Praying fervently. I realized that she had had to climb all those stairs. Her penance. Perhaps, if she could make her way here....this God she knew of would hear her. Perhaps if she paid the Franc, and lit the candle....climbed the stairs....just maybe he'd have mercy.

The Stable is more than an unfortunate "birth story" for poor Mary. God chose it. It's a picture for us. It wasn't a cathedral of gold (as would have been fit, surely!). It stank of manure. It was filthy. Jesus wasn't born in a Super 8...no....even lower than that! It was lower than the Occidental Hotel on Main St. He found the most barren and 'bottom' place to be born.

Do you know what that means for us?? No stairs to climb. There is NOT ONE of us who is so low that we cannot enter His presence. He went lower. He became a servant. He made himself like us....even poorer than us. Born in a barn. Even the lowest servant in the cast system could have been allowed there. He was completely approachable. No gold. No splendid architecture.

So even though I loved that building in Paris....it was a picture to me. He's not dwelling on the hill inside a pure white cathedral. He's at the bottom of the hill...on the grey sidewalk. And all because He's so in love with his creation.