Down in Adoration Falling

Last week, I ran across a quote by a French Catholic author of the last century that really resonated with me.

“You understand absolutely nothing about modern civilization unless you first admit that it is a conspiracy against all interior life.”

(George Bernanos)

Even the very roots of the word “civilization” betray its origin, for it comes from the Latin civitas , meaning “city”. It is the noisy distraction offered by the city, by urban life, which in just the past century has become the organizing principle of human existence on this planet.

In 1800, only 6% of the U.S. population lived in cities. A century later it was almost 40%. Today, it is over 80%. Given the light pollution endemic in the cities of the 20th and 21st centuries, not to mention the rise of television, the Internet, and other means of mass distraction, how many of us actually get a chance to see the night sky on a regular basis?

I’m not talking about looking up and seeing a couple of bright stars, I mean how many of us have been in darkness so total that we could see our shadows by moonlight, or even by the light of the Milky Way? And if you have done so, when was the last time?

And what does that do to our sense of wonder at the infinite vastness of God’s creation? We have made our world so small, so cramped, so noisy that we no longer have the time, or perhaps the ability, to think, much less to listen for the still, small voice of God.

And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.

(1 Kings 19:11b-12)

Recently, I’ve been spending more time in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. For those who don’t have a clue what that might mean, Adoration is time spent in devotion to and worship of Jesus Christ, who is present to us Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, under the appearance of humble bread.

The Blessed Sacrament is exposed and adored by the faithful. Typically, one sits in silence in the Church before the Lord who is present.

Sometimes you pray, and sometimes you just listen.

You are shut away from the city’s noise: no cars roaring past with the thumpthumpthump of a blaring stereo; no shrill voices blathering into their phones on the street corner; no chattering neighbours.

Just you and the Lord. And, if you can still the chattering in your own head, silence.

Saint Benedict reminds us “it becometh the disciple to be silent and to listen” (R6), and indeed the very first word of his Holy Rule is “listen“. One cannot listen unless one is silent.

So those are the two things that modern, urban life blots out from our existence – an intimate connection to the wonder of God’s creation and the silence to listen to God Himself.

On the Camino, you have both of these things on a fairly regular basis. Maybe that’s why life seems more connected, more human, more holy.

You’d expect that to happen in the rural countryside, but somehow it happens in the cities as well.

Why? Why is it so difficult to overcome the noise and distraction in the world when we are living our ordinary lives, but so much easier when we’re on a physically demanding pilgrimage thousands of miles from home?

So I have found refuge in the Blessed Sacrament – that is as it should be – but how to recapture the sacramental nature of reality that is so evident on the Camino and so absent in my ordinary life?