We didn't manage to do this on the Feast of the Sacred Heart, but today seems like a good day for a
rerun:
Apathy, Illness, Enthronement
We have been planning, in the vaguest of ways, since last fall, to hold an Enthronement of the Sacred Heart in our home. Our planning began in November, with a parish mission devoted to this practice and the graces attached to it, but because in our family "planning" mostly means saying at month-long intervals
We really need to do thus and such, here it is July and we still haven't done it. That is, it's on the calendar for tonight, and we have people invited and a grocery list and everything, but until it actually occurs, things hang in uncertainty.
I went to Confession this week as part of my preparation for the Enthronement, and one of the things I confessed was that although I had been going through the motions of preparation, saying the Litany of the Sacred Heart and the novena prayers, cleaning the house and planning how to feed people, in my heart, my own distinctly un-sacred heart, I really did not care about any of it. This, as I added to my confessor, is actually what I like about being Catholic: it's not dependent on my feelings. There's always something to do, and I can do it, and somehow the show stays in the road.
Still, my apathy bothered me. I could attribute it at least partly to the fact that I've never really understood the devotion to the Sacred Heart. I mean, I've read about it. I know what it's
about. I know
why people have this devotion and why it's important to them. As an onlooker, I find it beautiful and moving. But it's never taken root in me. For one thing, I actively dislike much of the art associated with the Sacred Heart devotion. Sorry, but I do. When I say "beautiful and moving," I am not talking about Our Lord drawing His garments aside with a come-hither look and a center-parted hairdo. That these images speak to many people is indisputable, and I don't mean to make fun of either the images or the people who value them; still, I have a hard time getting past them to the devotion itself.
The only way I can manage it now is that our own Sacred Heart image is an icon. And I know, I know, O Eastern Christians of my acquaintance, that this is not a specimen of genuine iconography; nor is the icon I bought years ago in Glastonbury (that in itself ought to have tipped me off, I guess), of Our Lady seated beside St. John. I know nowthat in traditional iconography Our Lady does not appear in company, except with members of her immediate family, but this knowledge doesn't prevent my still loving that icon. So it is with the Sacred Heart icon. I can deal with it because it's an icon,because it's an image without any particular overlay of identity, because there's no personal expression to get in the way.
The icon belongs, properly, to Aelred, who bought it long ago, when he was still an Episcopal priest in parish ministry. It hung in his church office for a time, and then, when we moved to England, it lived in his study. He had meant initially to hang it on a wall, but in unpacking he had come across a small metal book stand, and had propped the icon on it, on his desk, as a temporary measure. There it stayed for the entire four years of our sojourn there, and every day he said his prayers before it. With the Sacred Heart at his elbow, he wrote his doctoral thesis.
On our return to the U.S., he ceased to have a private study, and the Sacred Heart, with all our other icons, became general family property. Currently our collection hangs, in company with several crucifixes, above our living-room mantel; tonight we'll have to take the Sacred Heart down before we can enthrone Him, on the same nail He has occupied for some time now already, in an informal and unenthroned way.
So, the icon helps some. The other part of my apathy, though, has less to do with externals, and more to do with the overall status of my soul, which is set to "detachment: not necessarily the good kind." It was this that I wanted to dredge up, not for the first time, in Confession. My Confessor listened, laughing at appropriate intervals; apparently I'm frequently really funny in Confession, and I worry that I'm being flippant and inadequately contrite, but he does absolve me, so I guess it's all right. Anyway, what he said to me by way of counsel was, "I guess this is God's way of telling you you really need this Enthronement. But," he added, "don't necessarily expect anything from it."
This was a relief. If there's any silver lining to apathy, after all, it's that you don't really work up much energy for expectations. You go through the motions, you go through the motions, and whatever happens in the aftermath strikes you out of the blue, as pure gift. I think it probably is the better part of wisdom not to approach an observance like this thinking, "All right, by tomorrow we'll all be walking on water." This is not, I don't think, a failure of faith, but a waiting on God, to see what our instructions are going to be. St. Peter walked on water because he was told to. We won't know what we're told to do until we get into the boat.
Meanwhile, to complicate matters, this week we have been a house of illness. First one person, then another, has been struck down by a brief but thoroughly unpleasant stomach virus, and even as I write, one of us (not me) is recumbent upon the Couch of Near-Death Experiences, reading Dilbert and not laughing very much. Fortunately for that person, as well as for our evening plans, the worst of the plague seems to be over; to be at the stage of recumbency upon the Couch of Near-Death Experiences is to be washed up on a friendly shore after a long night at sea. Still, we're mulling whether or not we should call up everyone and tell them not to come. It's grace we want to share here, not germs. But then, do we enthrone the Sacred Heart by ourselves? After dragging our feet for so long, the thought of putting it off again, when we've finally gotten it all together, is maddening. If we do carry on as planned, do we quarantine the sufferer upstairs and just tell him or her about it later? (obviously the answer would be yes, as opposed to having the sufferer shedding his sufferings on everyone we know). But the thought of carrying on minus a member of the family, when we're finally all here together, is also maddening.
Here we are, then. Aelred has gone off to the grocery store with my long list, which means that either we'll have a house full of people tonight, or we will have an extraordinarily festive family dinner, except for the person who will be feasting on crackers and Gatorade, of course. Either way, I already see that I care more than Ithought I did, and that is a start.(image source)
